Forsaken
by Red Tape Will Drive You Nuts
Summary: Two down, one to go. Once Sam's blood has been cleansed by the trials, he and Dean are set to cure a demon and shut the fiery gates for good. But Crowley knows some sins can never be washed away, and there's nothing he won't do to stop them. Determined to shut the door on Hell no matter the cost, will the boys play right into Crowley's twisted sleight of hand?
1. Plan B

** A short list of changes for this AU:**

**-The events of season seven will have an effect on the plot. **

**-There is no back door to hell. Just forget it even exists. **

**-Benny is still alive. His death was a waste of a fantastic new character, and I refuse to roll with it. Assume the events of "Taxi Driver," with the **

**exception of the completion of the second trial, never happened. **

**-Sam's Gap Year happened for an important, plot-relevant reason that will be explored. **

**-Amelia actually matters, and her romance with Sam is tied to the rest of the plot. **

**-Dean's experiences in Purgatory are still a part of the plot, and his relationship with Benny is still important. **

**-The Gates of Hell plot will be resolved in a completely different fashion, and much of 8.23, "Sacrifice," will unfold differently.**

**The events of this fic still take place after 8.22, "Clip Show," and there will be spoilers for some events in the finale. **

**As always, I hope you guys enjoy the fic.**

* * *

The place was a bit…_dusty_ for Crowley's taste, but Lucifer always had had a bit of a messy streak. He swiped his finger across the surface of the stone table in the center of the crypt, staring critically at the ball of dirt and cobwebs at the end of it.

"Bloody slob," he muttered under his breath.

He dared speak no louder than that. Call him superstitious, but Crowley wasn't one to underestimate those who would do him harm; Lucifer might be at the center of the earth roasting in his cage, but that didn't mean taunting him was a wise decision. Things were bad enough with heaven's Chief Intelligence Officer and her agents on his arse; no need to tempt fate. Especially considering the task he was about to undertake.

His shoes tapped the flagstone floor as he walked over to the north wall of the crypt, eyeing the floor for booby traps. Spotting none, he swiped at the wall with his palms, clearing the dust away and revealing the inscriptions underneath.

_Can't believe I've been driven to this. _

It was amazing, really. He'd been sure Rocky and Bullwinkle were finished for at least a few years – plenty of time for him to find the tablet. He'd planned to lay low, get the damn thing, and destroy it for good. After the prophet had translated it, of course. It should have been so simple.

But he was coming to learn something he thought he'd already known – that Sam and Dean Winchester were something more than men. More than angels or demons or monsters. He wasn't sure what they were. But they needed to be stopped.

_Had_ to be stopped.

He was a crafty bugger – he'd ditched Lucifer during the apocalypse, damn it! – but he could sense that it was nearing five o'clock on his day in the sun. Things were happening, things he'd thought were impossible, and if he didn't make some major moves, the gates of hell would be closed, no matter how many of the Winchesters' old saves he sent to meet their maker.

_Plan A is just never enough, is it?_

Sam had completed two of the trials, and only he could complete the third. Crowley would have thought all the evil muck running through Sam's veins would've made him a rotten choice for world savior, but it seemed he was going right on ahead anyway.

_Figures. _

But there was a way to make sure he was unsuitable. A way to scar his soul so badly he'd be lucky to end up north of the seventh circle when his blasphemous life finally ended. A way to keep the gates open and get the Winchesters off the nice list.

Permanently.

He cleared away the last of the dust on the wall, and began to read.


	2. Getting Creative

Dean added some bacon bits to Sam's salad, kicking the refrigerator door closed. He'd taken the time to find Sam's favorite dressing – the enthusiastically named _Cheese Fantastico_ – and he'd actually asked a salesgirl for romaine lettuce. It was more trouble than he'd ever gone through for food – especially rabbit food – but Sam was still a little low after Sarah. The trials had him eating once a week or less, and Dean was afraid he might wither away before they even found a demon to cure.

Sam's chair scraped across the floor of the library. Dean snatched up their plates and made it into the room just in time to see Sam sneaking off to the bedroom with a stack of books.

"Get your ass back here and eat."

Sam sighed and set the books on a small table near the door, leaning his head against the wall.

"I'm not hungry right now, okay?"

He set the plates down on the map table, shoving some papers out of the way. "You haven't eaten since Monday."

"So?"

"So it's Saturday, and you look like Pregnant Bella."

Sam looked confused. "Who?"

"Just get something down, Sammy. I'm not asking you to hit a Vegas buffet, here."

He stood there for a moment, gathering energy, then came back to the table, dropping into a seat across from Dean. Dean watched as he slowly pulled a plate to his side of the table.

"Holy shit," he said, shaking his head. "You look like hell."

"I feel like it." Sam swallowed a spoonful of soup. "Did you find anything about Knights of Hell?"

"I found a lot of stuff about Knights of Hell, just nothing about how to track them," Dean said bitterly. "Looks like we're gonna have to get creative."

"You have something in mind?"

Dean looked thoughtful. "Maybe."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and Dean was glad to see that Sam got most of his food down. _Least we can scratch starvation off our list of problems. _

"We need to find a priest," Sam muttered. "We should get the confession out of the way ahead of time in case we run into a demon we can save."

"_I_ will find the priest," Dean said pointedly, "and _you _will go to sleep. You're dead on your feet."

"But Abaddon-"

"We will deal with her when the time comes, but for now, you need shut-eye. You're no good like this, Sam."

For once, Sam didn't argue with him.

After he'd verified that Sam was indeed asleep and not faking, he took the dishes back into the kitchen and tossed them into the sink. He didn't bother to wash them now; tired as Sam was, Dean didn't think he'd sleep for more than eight hours, and Dean had a lot of shit to get done before returned to the waking world. He sighed, gathering up supplies and stuffing them in a pack before putting on his jacket and shoes.

Dean stopped and looked in on Sam before he left. He was splayed across the bed, hair all over his head, but he was sleeping peacefully, and for that Dean was grateful. He closed the bedroom door as softly as he could, and departed.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure that Creek Lane and Pine Brook Way actually counted as roads, but they crossed and the dirt was pliable enough at their center to bury a box. He slipped a photo of himself into the box along with the other summoning items, smiling when he caught a look at his twenty-year-old self in his father's enormous jacket. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since that picture had been taken. But perhaps a lifetime _had_ passed; he'd died several times since then, hadn't he?

_We got to get a digital camera, _he thought. _We're running out of pictures for these rituals. _

He covered the box in dirt and stomped on it to even out the ground. He had just shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back a few paces when-

"Well, I can't say I saw this one coming."

Dean turned quickly to his left where a woman was standing. She was tall, brunette, and rather average looking as crossroads demon chicks went.

Dean gave her a once-over. "You Crowley's replacement?"

She grinned, the heels of her boots digging into the dirt as she approached him. "The boss is busy with other things now. He's delegating, if you can believe that."

"And you pulled the short straw?"

She shrugged. "I was on soul patrol down in the pit – torture, emotional manipulation, et cetera – when the Big Kahuna calls and I'm topside for the first time in…well, a while. Can't complain. Air's nicer up here."

"Aren't you a friendly one."

"Nah," she said, "but I've heard of you and your brother, and I've no desire to make enemies. So what do you want, Winchester? Surely you I can't make any deals with you."

Dean smirked. "Figured as much. But I've had all the demon contracts I can take, thanks. No, I've got a message."

"For who? Crowley?"

"Mmm, more of a bit of free floating gossip. It's for everyone, really."

She arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I've been hearing some rumors, you see."

"About?"

"A certain woman, a demon from back in the day. Old broad, but I gotta tell ya, she still has her looks."

The demon looked suspicious. "Does she have a name?"

"Abaddon."

The demon thought for a moment, then frowned at him. "You lie. The Knights are all dead."

"This one's back."

"Impossible."

"It's true."

"How? Did I miss a memo? Is God back?"

"Guess again."

She glared at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Time travel."

She considered the information, walking around him in a circle. "Even if it's true," she said carefully, "what's it to me? To any of us?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothin'," he said, "except that she's gunning for your boss. See, she's old school, and way back when, two-bit used car salesmen like Crowley didn't get to run the pit. Not much class mobility back then."

"And you're telling us this because you care so much?"

"We want to put the bitch down," he said, "but we can't get a 20 on her. That's where you come in."

"Speak plain, Dean. What do you want?"

"If she thinks Crowley's out of his bat cave, she'll strike him while he's weak. Put it on the wire that me and Sam are gonna rendezvous with Crowley a two weeks from today, sunset, back parking lot of Mabel's Table, Lawrence. Make sure they believe it."

"And why would you ever help us?"

"I'm helping me," he said. "I'm sure you've heard about the gates business. Well, she's putting a kink in our grand design here, and we need her gone."

"Maybe I should just let her kill you for us."

"And maybe you'll be sorry when Crowley finds out you knew about her and didn't tell him."

That seemed to strike a target in the demon, and Dean could tell she would do what he wanted.

"We'll see, Winchester."

She vanished.

* * *

Sam awoke to the sound of Metallica beside his head, and he caught the call just before the last ring.

"Hello," he said groggily, hoping whoever it was could understand him.

"Is this Dean Winchester?" the man practically shouted.

"This is Sam, but Dean's out right now. What is it?"

"My sister told me to call this number if something happens."

Sam sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Crazy stuff's been going on around here."

"Where's here?"

"St. Louis. But we know you guys from Nebraska."

"What sort of things?"

"Last week, a bunch of women with their eyes gouged out was set on fire at the dump."

"_What_?"

"And day before yesterday, a man strung his whole family up in his basement on hooks. Carved all kinds of symbols into their bodies. Shot himself afterward."

Sam grabbed a pen and paper. "Who is this?"

"Derek. Derek Johnson."

"Where can we find you, Derek?"

"I'll meet you at the Starbucks in Riley Tower downtown. And hurry up, y'all. Please."


	3. Seals and Secrets

"Who?"

Sam had been surprised to find Dean gone when he awoke; Dean hadn't mentioned that he was leaving at all, much less without his phone. _Hasn't mentioned much of anything important to me lately. _

"Derek, he said his name was," Sam said, already fatigued again despite his nap. "He told me he knew us from Nebraska."

Dean frowned. "And evil took a little road trip Omaha?"

"St. Louis," Sam said. "They moved, I guess. Some women mutilated and dumped; a guy carved up his family and strung 'em up like sides of beef in his basement."

"And this is our problem because…"

Sam scoffed. "Because people are dying on our watch."

"What's it to you?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Dean gave him a flat look. "You holed up with your girlfriend for a year while people bit it, Sam. Don't get all holier than thou on me now, all right?"

Sam sighed heavily, exhaustion nearly overwhelming him at the thought of everything that had happened since Dean disappeared. _Seems so long ago now, _he thought. _Like another life. _

The dishes clattered against the side of the sink as Dean tossed them into one side and ran the water. "The point is, our plate is piled too high as is. We can't take on any more side projects. You're falling apart at the seams."

"This guy says he knows us, Dean. Crowley's after our old saves. You really wanna leave this guy in the wind after I told him we'd come?"

Dean dropped the dish he was holding into the soapy water and pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Fine," he said after a moment's thought. "But we gotta wrap this up quick, Sam. Five days, tops."

"Why?"

"Let's just say we've got a meeting we can't miss, and we need time to prepare."

"What does that mean?"

But Dean ignored him and continued washing dishes, a dark frown on his face. Sam leaned against the island for a while longer, but after ten minutes of silence, he gathered his strength and shuffled back into the library and collapsed into one of the chairs.

_It won't do any good to tell him, _he told himself, gazing at the map on the tabletop. _It's over and done with. Amelia's out of your life for good, the Leviathans are locked up, and Dean's back. Pandora's box is closed. Don't reopen it. _

He pressed his face into his hands.

_He would never forgive me, _the sensible part of Sam knew. _Not ever. _

It wasn't like keeping secrets from Dean was a new concept for him. He'd done it dozens of times in their lives, and often for reasons far less noble than the one he had now. They were drowning in the task of closing the gates and getting control of the tablets, and bringing up old news would only complicate things, make their goal harder to reach. And it was _crucial_ that the gates be closed. Permanently, and as _soon_ as possible.

No matter what the cost.

But another part of him – an older, less cerebral part – desperately needed Dean to know that Sam loved him, idolized him, would do anything for him; that even after all they had been through, Sam was still the kid who had watched in awe as his big brother set off smoke bombs under the cars of people who were rude to their father, and had known even then that he'd never be that good or that noble or that pure of heart.

Their mother and their father and Gordon and Steve Wandell and Cas and Bobby and countless other people had died for him, because of him, and before he died once and for all, he needed Dean to know that Sam Winchester wasn't just a fuck up and a tool and a condom for evil. That in the end, after all was said and done, the world was better off because Sam had existed.

_You can't tell him, _his smarter half insisted. _It would kill him. _

His head had started to pound, and he laid it gently down on the cool stone tabletop. The next thing he knew, Dean was waking him, telling him it was time to go, lazy, the miles wouldn't cover themselves.

* * *

Crowley's enormous oak desk was covered in ancient and crumbling papers. Every little book of horror he'd been able to suss out of the dusty hidey-holes of Lucifer's crypts was on the table before him, and he'd scoured every one from ass to mouth looking for the right ritual.

_Got half a mind to crack open the whole thing, to hell with the rest. _

But that half of his mind had always been a prat, anyhow. He couldn't risk doing it wrong – his hide was as good as tanned if he screwed the pooch this time. As much as he hated it, patience was in order. He knew some of the ritual – enough to get the ball rolling –but act three was still outside of his expertise.

But not for much longer.

The answer was here. He could feel it, just beyond his grasp. If only he could get-

There was a soft knock on his office door.

"What is it?"

"News, sir."

"Important?"

"Very."

_Doubtful, _he thought.

But Bale was a loyal servant, and there was no better informant – or bodyguard – in the seven circles.

"All right, then."

The slender man entered the room, dressed all in black and carrying a narrow briefcase. He stood across from Crowley, not bothering to sit.

"It seems we have a visitor to the realm, my lord."

Crowley leaned back in his seat, crossing his ankles. "You know how I love guests," he said. "Will they be stopping by for tea?"

"Not likely, sir. Knights don't care for pleasantries, I'm afraid."

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Bale nodded solemnly.

"Thought Luci did away with the round table?"

"This one's crafty. Time travel."

"He have a name?"

"Abaddon."

"A lady? Never met her."

"Lucky you."

"What does she want?"

"To see you dead, of the rumors are true. Not fond your rise to kingship."

Crowley shook his head. "Aristocrats," he muttered. "What are you gonna do?"

"A fair question."

Crowley was silent for a few moments as the thought.

"Get out the iron Key of Solomon," he said, twirling a small book in his hands.

Bale, normally an expressionless sort, frowned. "My lord?"

Crowley waved him off. "Just do it."

Bale nodded. "As you wish."

"And Bale?"

"Sir?"

"Invite the lovely lady for tea anyway," he said. "Even a knight might appreciate a little hospitality."

"What did you have in mind?"

"The crypt in Jonesboro ought to do nicely. Lots of room to maneuver, and my tool set's there. Perfect place to dine in style and…pick a rival's brains, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

Riley Tower was in the heart of downtown St. Louis, and Dean was having a bitch of a time finding a parking space.

"You'd think a place like this would have its own garage," Sam muttered, barely able to keep his eyes open. "Wonder where all the executives park?"

Dean barely heard him as he circled the block, slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting a man on a bike. Sam knew he hated driving in the city; there were too many stoplights, and there never seemed to be enough room for the Impala to maneuver. He finally spotted a gap between two luxury sedans and parallel parked there, slow enough that he wouldn't scrape either of them. Sam was glad; the insurance on the Impala wasn't exactly current.

"Told you the fed suits were a good idea," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes as dozens of sharply dressed men walked past the car. "You look like you've been up for three days dealing with a terrorist threat, Sam. We'll be lucky if people don't bolt the second they see you."

Sam didn't reply, but he knew Dean was right; if he looked anything like he felt, it was likely that the barista would call an ambulance as soon as they stepped inside. He pressed his fingers to his eyes.

_You can do this, _he thought, trying not to wince at the pain in his chest. _Just one more trial. Been to hell and back in a day. No problem._

When he opened his eyes again, Dean was staring at him with a look Sam hadn't seen since he'd had his last psychic vision.

"I'm okay," he said, straightening up slowly. "You can stop looking at me like that."

"Right."

He sighed, too exhausted to argue. "Let's get this done with."

After lining up their IDs in case they ran into trouble, they got out of the car and joined the flood of people entering Riley Tower. When they made it past the swivel door, Dean looked around for the Starbucks where they were supposed to meet Derek.

"There," Sam said, pointing halfheartedly off to the left. "By the gift shop."

Sam lagged behind Dean as they walked, the muscles in his legs and back aching with every step.

_Should have made it a year instead of a few months. _

But this wasn't the time for regrets, and at any rate, it was done, in the past. He couldn't take any of it back now; not the dog, not Amelia, and definitely not the –

"Are you Dean?"

Dean nearly knocked over a table – and Sam – in his haste to turn and face the voice behind them. Several of the other customers turned to look at them as Dean straightened his jacket and slowed his breathing, embarrassed at having been startled. Sam felt a pang of guilt; Dean had come a long way from the jittery mess he was when he got back from Purgatory, but Sam feared the cool-headed confidence they'd both relied on since the beginning was gone for good.

_If only I'd been faster. _

"Yeah," Dean said, gesturing at a small table near a window. "Why don't you come on over here and give us the rundown."

Derek nodded, walking ahead of them. He couldn't have been older than fourteen, and his gait had the awkward growth-spurt lurch Sam remembered so well from his own youth. The bright green North West High School sweatshirt he wore contrasted sharply with his brown skin; something about the name of the school was familiar. Sam wracked his brains trying to recall where they knew it from. It might have just been the exhaustion, but he would swear on his own grave that they'd never met the kid before.

When they were seated, Derek didn't waste any time with pleasantries.

"So you guys know about the women at the trash dump and the family on meat hooks, right?"

They both nodded, and Dean smiled reassuringly and flashed his badge at a frightened looking woman a few tables away.

"Well, my sister said you two saved her one time, and that if anything like this ever happened, to give you guys a call."

Dean cocked his head. "Your sister have a name?"

"Nikki," Derek whispered, "Johnson, like me."

"Why the cloak and dagger? She a CIA agent?"

"A hunter. Barely anybody knows her real name."

Dean shot him a bewildered glanced and Sam shook his head, fighting to stay conscious. _Should have slept more in the car._ "Do you know what we saved her from?"

"It was before I was born, but she said it was some kind of clown she met at a fair. She said it came to the house to kill her, but you guys were there to save her."

Dean blinked. "The rakshasa? We almost got shot by your parents that night. That little girl is your sister?"

"Well, she's older now, but yeah, that was her. We moved here a few years after that. She got into hunting after a vampire killed her boyfriend."

"And she remembered us," Sam mused. "After all this time."

"You're not easy to forget, trust me," a woman said from behind them.

She'd entered the coffee shop from the street, and as she walked over to the table, Sam wondered how they hadn't noticed her pass by the window. Exhausted as he was, he couldn't help but smile at Dean's expression as he checked her out.

She couldn't have been more than twenty, and she wore a very expensive pale gray suit and a bright red blouse, with modest jewelry and makeup. Her walk was brisk and official, but there was just enough sway in her hips to catch your eye as she passed. The effect was stunning; she looked at once like a movie star and a politician. _Not too much difference between the two, _Sam thought cynically as she kissed Derek on the cheek and sat beside him.

"How do you do," Dean said, extending his hand. She looked incredulously at it, and Sam snorted as Dean was forced to let it fall to the table.

"Well, you two sure have changed," she said, smiling. "Decided to step up the ruse, I see. Wise choice. The last time I saw you, you looked like a pair of serial killers."

Dean shot her a small and not entirely chaste grin. "We had the van and everything, didn't we?"

Derek looked confused. "I thought you said they drove that Impala we saw at that car show?"

Nikki shook her head. "They do, dumbass. But they didn't drive it over to break into our house that night."

Derek made a face and took a sip of his drink.

"You couldn't have been more than eight," Sam said. "God, has it really been that long?"

Her expression turned serious and she pushed some curls out of her eyes. "Yep. And you two've been busy as bees, haven't you?"

"So you've heard of us, huh?"

"Hard not to," she said, lowering her voice. "Especially after you-know-who paid us a visit a few years ago. Nice save, by the way. Ingenious, and ballsy, too."

"You've got one hell of an informant," Dean said seriously.

"More than you know. And I've heard through the grape vine that a certain literary agent is paying your old friends a visit."

Sam sat forward. "Has he tried anything?"

"Not yet," she said, taking a drink from Derek's cup despite his protests, "but I can handle that. That's not why I had Derek call you."

"Meaning?"

"The women at the dump? The family butcher? _Seals_."

A jolt shot through Sam, and he fought to keep his shock from showing on his face, but he could feel the blood leaving his face and neck. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

If Dean noticed the effect the word had on Sam, he didn't let on. "I take it you don't mean the ones at Sea World."

"Nope."

Derek piped up. "What do you mean 'seals'?"

Dean started to speak but Nikki held up her hand. "Go wait in the car, Derek."

"But-"

"No. You're not in this. It's bad enough you know as much as you do. Now go wait in the car before I send you to home for the summer."

Sam watched Derek fight the urge to protest before getting up and leaving the table without so much as a backward glance.

Dean grinned again. "I gotta say, I'm impressed. You don't know what I would have done to get Sammy here to obey me like that a few years back, let me tell you."

She laughed, and Sam watched Dean brighten as she slipped off her jacket and set it on the back of her chair.

"I'm gonna hit the restroom," Sam said suddenly, hoping Dean would be distracted enough not to make note of his haste. "I'll be back."

"Don't get lost," Dean said, sparing him a momentary glance.

Sam winced as his body cramped. His joints were on fire and for a moment he couldn't straighten his back, but eventually his body gave in to his demands and he shuffled off toward the restrooms, locking the door behind him once he'd made it inside.

He sat down against the wall, grateful for the back support, and slipped his phone out of his pocket. He called the first number in his speed dial.

"_Hello?"_ Amelia said. Sam could hear men shouting in the background.

"It's me," he said, letting the sound of her voice wash over him. "Is everything okay there?"

The noise died down suddenly. "_It's fine. Don and his friends are watching a game." _

"That's nice. How is Don?"

There was a short silence. _"What's going on, Sam?"_

"He knows, Mellie."

"_Who knows what?"_

"You know who. He's breaking seals."

She sighed. _"Already?"_

"I didn't think he would find out so quickly. I was sure we had at least a few more months before he heard what we did. He was so focused on the tablet…"

"_What's he after? He can't want to release Lucifer. It's suicide."_

"I have no idea-" He let out an involuntary groan as his spine shrieked in pain.

"_Sam? What's wrong? Are you okay?"_

"These trials, they've been rough, that's all," he said when he could speak again.

She scoffed. "_The trials, huh?"_

He chuckled dryly. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

She sighed quickly the way she always did when she was annoyed, and Sam was suddenly reminded of the time they'd spent on the road in between Leviathan kills. With everyone doped up, the roads had been clear as the Texas sky, and time had seemed to stand still as they covered those thousands of miles. She seemed to hate it, and had taken every opportunity to voice her displeasure with their method of travel, but Sam thought she secretly enjoyed it. And even with everything that was going on, it was easily the most carefree time Sam had had in his life. He would always be grateful to her for it.

"_You still haven't told him, have you?"_

"What good would it do, Mellie? We did what we had to. And now it's time to finish all this for good. We can't let Crowley stop us. You know what happens if he does. And then we'll have gone through all this crap for nothing-"

"_You're preaching to the converted here, Sam," _she said dryly. _"I know what's at stake better than you do. Do you think I want it all to come undone?"_

Sam sighed in both relief and exhaustion. "Sorry, I just…"

"_Meet me."_

"What?"

"_Are you deaf? Meet me."_

"We're in Missouri. I can't just hop over to Texas to see you."

"_Where? St. Louis?"_

"Amelia-"

"_Don't you 'Amelia' me." _

"It's dangerous."

"_So was everything else we did."_

"What if Dean sees us?"

"_Then we'll give him a good show."_

"We-"

"_I want to see you, Sam,"_ she said quietly. _"I have to. At least one more time."_

He heard the sadness in her voice and hated it. "Don't do that."

"_It's true. And I'm coming whether you want me to or not." _

"But-"

"_I'll see you at midnight."_

"I can't-"

But call was ended.

* * *

Dean was in full Casanova mode when Sam finally got back to the table. _Guess I don't have to worry about him noticing I'm gone tonight, _he thought.

"Well, look who's back," Dean said, all dimples and bravado. "Eat a big breakfast?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Ignore him, Sam," Nikki said, taking another sip of Derek's coffee. "We need your help. We've got a hell of a lot of work to do."

"What do you mean?"

"The seals," Dean explained. "Only sixty-six were broken on the last go round. There are hundreds, remember?"

"How are we gonna pinpoint which one's he'll try next?"

"Some of them are impossible now," Nikki interjected as Dean was about to speak. "The stuff you need to get them done is already destroyed. With our combined expertise, we oughta be able to narrow it down at least a little, don't you think?"

Sam nodded. "Sounds solid."

"Just wish we knew what he was after," Dean grumbled. "He can't be angling to free Beelzebub. Not even he's that stupid."

"Well, whatever he's up to, we gotta stop him." He sighed in Dean's direction. "Wanna head back to the motel?"

"I don't think so," Nikki said. "I've got a house here. Plenty of space for both of you."

Dean smirked. "Can't get enough of us?"

She leaned across the table and smirked back, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Your psycho ex is killing off people you saved, genius. No way I'm losing blood over your domestic disturbance. You're here to save my ass, so get that look of your face."

Dean grinned with an obscene look in his eyes. "That's what they all say."

"Thanks, Nikki," Sam said, stretching as best he could.

"No problem," she said sweetly. "To be honest, you look like you could use some rest."

"You have no idea."

After a few more minutes of flirtatious banter, Sam was grateful to see them getting up to go. He followed silently behind them as they headed out the doors and onto the street.


	4. The Things We Do For Love

**Sorry about the extra-long wait, you guys. I had to plot the whole fic in a lot more detail than usual because of the changes in canon characterization this season. Things will go much more smoothly now; I've got their character arcs set and ready to be written. This chapter is pretty heavy on characterization, but later chapters will be less so. **

**As always, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Crowley studied the stitching at her throat, picking at it with the tip of his blade.

"Black silk, bathed in lamb's blood," he said, smirking as she twisted in her restraints. "Old school."

"Older than you can imagine, Honest John."

He sighed. "The good old days are gone though, aren't they?"

Abaddon spat out a mouthful of blood; the strap across her chin tightened as she struggled. "You can thank Sam and Dean Winchester when you see them again," she snapped, wresting some more.

He pulled at one of the threads, chuckling as she cried out in pain. "Hell of a trick, the silk. Powerful magic. Holds you together nice." he said, thinking. "Think Dean learned it in Purgatory?"

She growled and turned away from him, doing her best to yank her wrists to and fro. "It wasn't him. The silk was Rapunzel's idea."

He lifted and eyebrow. "You don't say?"

Abaddon didn't reply, choosing instead to focus on loosening her restraints. Crowley could feel her psychic energy fighting to free her, but she needn't have bothered.

He'd won the ancient iron devil's trap in a poker trade with a certain angel a few years back – apparently it had just been lying around heaven in a vault, unused. He had heard the poor fellow had been sacked over it, but Crowley'd been able to hide the thing in all the disarray after Raphael died, and eventually the angels had just buggered off looking for it. He'd read in a very interesting book that the demon Alistair had once been caught and tortured in it, and if it could hold that crafty fuck in place, it was certainly good enough for Abby the Red.

She hung from the five-pointed star like a boneless fish, most of her earlier vigor – and blood – drained from her. Crowley had been at her for days, cutting and peeling, but she hadn't budged an inch; she'd been tortured and created by Lucifer himself, and apparently this could significantly increase one's pain tolerance.

"Quit while you're ahead, Crowley," she said, an icy smile gracing her ashen lips. A few rivulets of blood ran from her scalp into her mouth and stained her smile red. "If you let me go now, I promise it'll be quick."

"So kind of you, Sir Knight, but I'm afraid not."

She roared and jerked her entire body at once, sending spots of blood flying Crowley's way. "You won't get away with this!" She took a deep and rattling breath, blood running from her mouth. "It's _blasphemy_!"

"It's old news, is what that is," he said. "God, you're out of the loop. Lucifer is locked in his cage, snug as a cock in a condom, along with that blowhard Michael. Did no one send you a telegram?"

She cocked her head at an unnatural angle and narrowed her gaze. "What?"

_Finally, some fear out of you, _he thought. _Was starting to think I'd wasted my time. _

"Didn't Bob and Knob tell you? Your dear father was upstairs for the grand finale a few years back, and those two drew the curtains on the whole operation last minute. It was the talk of the town."

"Impossible."

He rolled his eyes. _You've got quite a bit to learn, love._

"Not that I was broken up over it. Sorry arse was after my hide as well. Not sorry to see him back in the brig. Helped, even."

The roar of her voice filled the small crypt, and Crowley put his hands over his ears in mock pain.

"Scream all you want, ducky," he said, "won't change a thing." He stepped toward her with an Archangel's blade, holding it before her heart. She immediately stopped writhing, her face a canvas of rage.

"Now," he said, drawing the blade back and forth across the bloody skin of her chest, "I know you're not accustomed to commoners mouthing off to their betters, but hear ye, my lady. I mean to stop the Brothers Dim from locking us underground for all eternity, no matter what it takes. I'd like to keep you around in some fashion or other, but you'll have to pay the piper."

She eyed the blade, silent.

"The last part of part of the ritual, Abby dear." He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. "I'm the king. How do knight one of my subjects?"

* * *

Dean followed closely behind Nikki's Kompressor, smiling at her when he caught her checking her rearview for him. She did it pretty often, and Dean was certain he would enjoy the evening ahead.

_Can't remember the last time I got laid_. _Or even wanted to. _

He stretched in his seat, enjoying the breeze coming in through the window, and looked over at Sam. His seat was fully reclined and his head lolled back and forth with the rhythm of the road; his face was pinched and drawn even as he slept, and Dean could tell he was both exhausted an in pain.

They still had no idea what the trials were actually doing to Sam's body, and Dean kept running into his old friends Jack and Shit as he searched for information. If that wasn't enough, there was precious little detail from any source on the subject of how to actually close the gates once the trials were completed, and the god stone hadn't mentioned shredding the body of the sap who ended up doing the trials.

_If we ever end up writing a hunter manual, crap like that's going on the first page. _

It was something he'd thought of doing from time to time – keeping a journal like their father had done. It would come in mighty handy to any hunter who came along after they finally cashed in their chocolate chips, and he liked the idea of leaving a legacy behind. Especially since he wasn't likely to end up with rugrats in this life.

_Might make one tonight if I'm not careful. _

He grinned some more, feeling hornier than he had since the Halloween Lisa had dressed up as a demon. There had been little horns and a red satin thing that Party City called a "dress," and Lisa had bent around like a contortionist that night – it had been like something out of _Emily Rose_. He'd felt more exhilarated than he had since…well, since his first kill, a vampire he'd tracked with his father.

The memory had floated into his mind unbidden on more than one occasion, and if he focused, he could still feel the blood flow over his hands as the monster's head tumbled to the ground. The world had seemed to move in slow motion even as his heart had trip-hammered in his chest, and the sense of hyper reality had stayed with him for days afterward.

He had lain next to Lisa when they were finished, fiddling with the plush horns and wishing he could go on a hunt.

_Hate to hear what a therapist would make of _that_ one._

Sam stirred, arching his back and repositioning himself in his seat, drawing Dean's attention. His pallor was awful, he had lost weight, and he looked like the before picture in one of those anti-aging commercials. And yet, Dean couldn't suss out why the trials should have such terrible effects. Pulling a slice-and-dice on a hellhound and taking a walking tour of the pit weren't exactly days at the beach, but they'd been through a lot worse and come through with less damage. So why was Sam practically on his deathbed? _He_ wasn't the one who had done a twelve-month tour of twenty-four hour combat, was he?

And wasn't it just so perfect that once again, Sam was sick and needed caring for? Dean still couldn't get a nightmare-free night of sleep, but here he was, bringing soup and fluffing pillows and practically wiping the ass of a guy who had hidden in a vagina for a full year while Dean had damn near lost his mind in Purgatory.

_Be surprised if he even mopped up after Dick exploded, _he thought bitterly.

He knew he was being unfair – the guy had just come out of the nuthouse a few weeks before the showdown with Roman, and it wasn't a completely ridiculous notion that he might have needed a break. But somehow the reasons – excuses, really – for all the betrayals were wearing extremely thin. For the first time in his life, Dean found himself wondering if his love and trust and faith in Sam were good for him anymore. Once upon a time, they would have done – and had done – the impossible for one another. Hell, part of the reason Ruby got her claws in so deep was because Sam had been so desperate to save him. What happened to them – to Sam – between then and now? When had he stopped giving a fuck? How could-

Dean's ringtone shattered the silence, and he fumbled for it, the Impala slipping out of its lane as he dug into his pants pocket. _Maybe Sam was right about that damn car speaker adapter thing, _he thought as he accepted the call, tossing away the Bluetooth and holding the phone to his ear.

The number was unfamiliar. "Hello?"

"Hey, partner."

Benny.

Much of the day's tension left Dean's body. "Hey. Long time no ring."

"Been trying to keep my nose clean," he said, his southern drawl dragging the words out. Dean realized, with more than a little embarrassment, how much he'd missed the sound of Benny's voice the past few months. In Purgatory, that sound had always meant his back was covered and his load was shared. _Nice to know loyalty still has meaning to someone, even a monster._

He cast a rather bitchy glance at Sam.

"Run out of tissue?" he said, speaking quietly. Despite Sam's belated and lukewarm acceptance of their friendship, he wouldn't be happy to know Dean was still having fireside chats with King Bill. _Got a lot of nerve giving me shit over hitching wagons with a monster when he dropped me like a dirty snot rag the second he thought I wouldn't be back to chew him out for it. _

"Something like that," Benny muttered with a sigh. "Got a pack on my tail."

"Vamps?"

"Among other things."

A worried frown crossed Dean's face. "Come again?"

"They got other creatures with 'em. Stuff I ain't never seen before."

"Got any details?"

"I wish I did," Benny said. Dean might have been mistaken, but his voice sounded strained. "All I got's a scent."

"You okay, Benny?"

There was a long pause.

"I know we said we'd split at the fork in the road, Dean," he said, "but I…I can't do this on my own. I need your help, man. I don't know what I'm dealing with here. I've seen the bodies this thing leaves behind, and-"

"Where are you?"

"Fayetteville."

"Arkansas?"

"Yeah."

_Sam'll flip a bitch if he catches wind of this, _he thought, wracking his brain for a solution. _But he might be pooped enough to sleep through me slipping out. Gotta chance it._

"Can you get to the state line?"

"Which one?"

"Missouri."

"I think so. They'll be on my tail, but I can get ahead of 'em for a while if I stay away from the interstate. This pack don't like hiking too much. They'll be at least two hours behind if I cover my tracks."

"Good. There's a little cabin where we can touch base. I'll text you the co-ords."

"What time?"

He lowered his voice. "Dunno. Gotta make sure Sam's occupied before I can get on the road. It'll be tonight, though, for sure."

Benny sighed. "See you soon."

"Hey, it's gonna work out, all right? We'll take care of this. I got your back – you know that."

"Yeah," Benny said sadly, "I know."

There was a low-pitched tone as he hung up.

_Fan-fuckin-tastic, _he thought, slowing the car to a stop in front of a small brick house. Nikki's car was parked in the driveway and she and Derek were one their way inside. _More roadblocks…_

But he couldn't even complete the thought. He had no idea what he would tell Sam if he was still gone after sunrise, and the truth was, he didn't care. He wasn't sorry at all Benny had called. He was going on a hunt – a real, no frills monster hunt – and there would be no Sam or tablets or confusion or guilt or resentment. Even if it was just for a few hours, maybe a day, he wouldn't have to think about the bigger picture or sit around getting dickslapped by Sam's betrayal and selfishness. There would only be the hunt for whatever was hassling Benny.

Things would be clear.

Uncomplicated.

Pure.

* * *

The slam of Dean's door brought Sam out of his sleep.

He watched through blurred eyes as Dean walked around the front of the car and headed into the house without a backward glance.

_Nice._

He sat there for a moment longer, gathering his strength.

It wasn't as though he was really surprised.

He'd known Dean would be pissed from the moment he'd set this whole thing in motion – how could he not be? He thought Sam had ditched him – for real this time – and left him to rot in a hell dimension. He and Amelia had agreed not to reveal any more than they had to; it was better to simply do what needed to be done and explain it all later when the fate of the universe wasn't hanging in the balance.

Resistant as he had been to lying to Dean yet again, Amelia had convinced him that the mission was important enough to deal with a little family bickering. He had tried to make the case that Dean would be an asset if he knew, but the truth was, he simply hadn't wanted Dean to distrust him again. Amelia had seen right through it, of course. She saw him more clearly than anyone he'd ever met, save Dean.

So Sam had rattled off some ridiculous story about taking the year off to hang out with a veterinarian, sure that Dean would never believe something so preposterous without recorded evidence. But Dean had bought it hook, line, and sinker. And Sam was glad he hadn't had to elaborate much on the story; while he could conceal the truth fairly well, he wasn't so great at telling big lies right to his brother's face.

He just wished it hadn't been such an easy sell.

At first, Sam was overcome with relief that Dean hadn't pried any further – there was almost nothing to back that story up. But after a few weeks had passed – with Dean shooting drive-by insults at him every chance he got – Dean's lack of curiosity began to piss him off. He hadn't so much as asked Sam what had happened to the Leviathans since he'd been back, and he blown Sam off whenever he'd brought up the subject of their time apart.

And then there was Benny.

_Didn't see that one coming_.

There hadn't been anything in the ritual about stowaways, and Dean certainly hadn't declared Benny upon arrival. Sam was certain he wouldn't have even known Benny existed if it hadn't been for a random series of events that had brought them all together. He'd been completely blindsided.

And Sam didn't like him.

It wasn't just that he was a vampire. They'd dealt with friendly vamps before. It was Dean's complete and unflinching trust in him that got Sam's goat. Dean only had that kind of trust for family – the kind who'd been through hell with him, not just blood – and Benny was _not _family. Not even close.

Dean had known Benny, what, nine months? So, they'd taken turns sleeping while they found their way to the portal. So the fuck what? How did that compare to everything _they'd_ gone through over the years? How was a few months spent chopping heads in Purgatory comparable in any way to the things they'd done?

Sam would have continued stewing in the car for another hour if Derek hadn't come stomping out of the house, storming around the corner.

_Better go see what that was about, _he thought, his anger waning as the opened the car door. His body screamed in protest, but he kept moving, hoping the exhaustion wouldn't drop him before he made it into the house.

* * *

For someone so young, she sure had her shit together.

"Pretty decent stash," he said, scanning the books on the shelf. The house was pretty small – just two bedrooms and a bath – but the basement was jam packed with everything from gallon buckets of salt to shrapnel dipped in holy water. "Homeland Security been by yet?"

"You're funny. That sense of humor probably gets you laid on the regular."

She climbed a small stepladder to reach a shelf and tossed a Bible-sized book down onto the table. Dean watched her move as she dug around for something else, impressed by her grace; she was in control of every inch of her five-eight frame, and was remarkably _aware_ for someone who'd only been hunting for a few years. He doubted much could sneak up on her.

"It helps," he said, leaning against the small wooden table in the middle of the room. A dim light bulb glowed in the ceiling, casting precious little light into the room. Shame, too. He'd love the chance to get such an unobstructed view of her ass. "But my eyes usually do the trick just fine on their own."

She shot a sly smile over her shoulder at him. "I believe it. That's all it would take for me."

He could hardly believe it, but he actually chuckled out loud; it had been so long that he'd actually forgotten what a laugh sounded like. _Not much to smile about monster hell._

"You still with me?"

He blinked, surprised to see that she was off the ladder and standing in front of him.

"Yeah," he said, looking away quickly. "Just thinking."

"Well, save some brain power for this." She held the book from the table in her hand.

She handed it to him when he reached for it. It was incredibly old; the paper was practically falling apart and the binding had withered away to threads. He opened it, squinting in the dark.

"Is this…"

"A book of seals," she said. She was pretty satisfied with herself, and while Dean usually found smugness annoying, arrogance looked good on her. _Like everything else she's ever worn. _

"Where the hell did you get this?"

Her heels clicked on the concrete as she walked over to the stairs, beckoning him. "Friend of a friend of an enemy took it off a demon he trapped. Everything we need is in there. Just gotta eliminate all the ones they've already broken and the ones that are impossible, and try to narrow it down from there."

They stepped up into the back hallway and she leaned against the laundry room door, blocking his passage to the kitchen with a hand on his chest. He couldn't keep a dirty grin from slipping onto his face.

"Don't you think we should get at least a little work done first?"

But the look she gave him was serious.

"Why is the King of Hell putting all our lights out?"

"Our?"

"Me, Sarah, your old saves," she said, clearly not amused by his evasiveness. "You know who I'm talking about. And now with these seals? I thought this was over. What the hell's going on now?"

"What, did you guys form a fan club or something?"

"We're hunters. A lot of us, anyway. And hunters talk."

He shook his head. "One do-si-do with evil just wasn't enough for you, huh?"

"A flesh-eating clown broke into my house and tried to eat me," she said flatly. "No way I was ever gonna sleep again without some kind of protection. Now answer the question, goldilocks. The Once and Future King has my name on his execution list. Why?"

"Let's just say that Sam and me are going on offense for once," he said. "King Russell's not big on our battle plan."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Going through all this to stop you. Plan must be a good one."

"We do this right, we'll never have to do it again."

"Good." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked worried, staring down the hall toward Derek's room. "I want this over and done with."

Dean knew exactly how she felt. "Hey," he said, "He'll be alright. Crowley doesn't even know he exists."

"Only a matter of time," she said, turning and heading into the kitchen. She kept her back to him, pulling jars out of cabinets. "Can't go through it again."

Dean was confused at first, then remembered what Derek had told them. _Been there, honey, _he thought, walking up beside her and pulling some pasta out of a cabinet.

"What was his name?" he said quietly, running water into a pot.

"Mark," she said straightforwardly. "Vampires."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." He'd been expecting tears – or at least a break in her voice – but her voice was even and soft. "He's safe now," she said. "They had actually planned to turn him, but he died before they could."

"Mmm."

He watched her for signs of an impending breakdown, but none came, and she went about preparing the meal in relative silence. It was odd; he'd seen countless loved ones bite the dust, but he'd never been able to so much as think about them and feel as calm as she was now. His wounds stayed fresh and bloody no matter how much time passed. He had assumed that was just how things worked; you loved someone, you got your heart torn out when something ate them, and you shoved all their stuff in a box in a closet and avoided looking at it when you got dressed in the morning.

"Not too close to him, huh?"

The words came out sounding much less horrible in his head, and he immediately regretted them. She cut her eyes at him, kicking off her heels into a corner.

"We were, as a matter of fact," she said coldly. "What makes you think we weren't?"

He sighed and broke the spaghetti over the pot, wanting to kick himself. "I just meant…nothing, just forget I said anything. I'm an asshole. Huntin'll do that to you." He gave a shallow chuckle.

She stopped opening the can she was holding and touched his arm in the crook of his elbow. He tried to ignore her, breaking the pasta and clearing his throat, but she kept her hand there until he finally met her gaze.

Her eyes suddenly seemed much bigger than they had a moment before.

"What's your deal, Dean? I heard about some of the shit you two have been through. I know you've seen a lot of dark and ugly things. But you still got each other, alive and kicking. So why you so rough around the edges?"

"Hmm." He swallowed and took a few breaths, not wanting to lose it in front of her. "I just…I used to be able to just…I dunno, shake it off and carry on. Me and Sam…you can't even imagine the stuff we've seen. That we've done. But it was always okay before because we were in it together, you know?"

She nodded. "And now?"

He shook his head and looked back down at the pasta. "I dunno, ever since I got back from P…since me and Sam got back together, I just can't seem to get my head right. Can't fucking sleep at night, can't concentrate like I used to. And I have these daydreams…" He trailed off. "Shit's just finally catching up with me, I guess."

She moved closer to him, her side pressing against his. He had forgotten how nice it could be to simply be close to someone. Unconsciously, he slipped an arm around her.

"We all got to deal sometime," she said. "Guess your number's up."

"Yeah."

They stood there for a moment longer before she smiled up at him and picked up her can of tomato paste.

"We should eat," she said. "Gonna need our energy."

He smirked at that and she nudged him with her elbow. "Can't you keep your mind out of the gutter for one second? I meant the research."

"Sure."

She nudged him again, softer this time. "Go get your brother, Dean. He probably saw Derek go storming out of here when we sent him to his friend's house."

He shot her another sidelong glance as he strode off, headed toward the front room. He felt the beginnings of worry in the pit of his stomach – how long had Sam been waiting outside? – but then he caught sight of the living room sofa. Sam was laid out across it, his arm dragging the floor, and he snored lightly.

_Poor son of a bitch_, he thought, walking over to him.

He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for his earlier thoughts about his brother, even though he was still angry about Sam's ridiculous sabbatical. It never ceased to amaze him how deeply Sam could make him feel, how he could love and loathe and want to protect and scream at the kid all at once.

He shook Sam's shoulder.

Sam jerked, raising his head and squinting through his hair. "Mmm-"

"Pipe down, kojack," Dean said. "Get your ass up and into bed. You need some sleep."

Sam sighed and rose very slowly. Dean could see how much pain he was in. It confused his emotions even further – how was it that Sam was perfectly willing to do _this_, but had given up the goat so quickly when Dean vanished?

He led a stumbling Sam down the hall to the guest bedroom and tossed him onto the bed, pulling off his shoes.

"There's spaghetti when you wake up," Dean said.

Sam didn't reply, having already fallen asleep again.

_Good, _Dean thought, almost closing the door. _He needs some goddam rest. _

_And you won't have to worry about him stopping you tonight, _a more cynical part of him thought.

He went back to the kitchen. The smell of the spaghetti was wafting down the hall, and he was starving.

* * *

Dean backed away from the table as slowly and quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Nikki.

She had fallen asleep in a pile of papers, the book of seals open in the middle of the table. They had made good progress; the number of seals was narrowed to the seven most likely, and tomorrow they would find some way to pinpoint the one Crowley would go for next.

But now, he had somewhere to be.

He slipped on his jacket despite the warm temperature. The cabin where he was meeting Benny was deep in the woods, and it could get pretty chilly at night under the canopy of the trees. He stepped into his boots and moved silently out the front door, settling into the Impala and closing the door as quietly as he could. Nikki and Sam were both dead to the world, and even if they heard a car start, they probably wouldn't come running out to investigate.

He was on the highway in five minutes, headed south. Google Maps gave him an ETA of eleven o'clock and a drive time of three and a half hours, but Dean could make the trip in two if he put the petal to the metal. He prayed there would be no highway patrol and gunned it.

_Got everything we need, _he thought, running over the inventory of items in the trunk. He brought every possible weapon with him, since Benny had no I.D. on the monster they were hunting with the pack of vampires. He was a little concerned that Benny couldn't get a read on what it was – the man had been in monster heaven for a good long time – but his anxiety didn't come anywhere close to his excitement at the chance to hunt with Benny again. Purgatory was the dark basement of a serial killer's worst nightmare, but a part of Dean had thoroughly enjoyed the freedom of knowing that whoever he stuck a blade into was an enemy. There had been no moral dilemmas, no second guessing, no conscience necessary. It was horrific, sure – he was lucky he could still walk and chew gum at the same time – but there was a kind of beauty in that horror, and he missed it with all his heart.

_The hunting wasn't all fun and games, though, was it-_

He shoved the voice down, determined not to relive anymore of…_those _memories. The monsters he killed were evil. He had done the right thing by each and every one of them. Each and every one.

Nightmares or no nightmares.

He gunned the gas harder, his speed creeping up to ninety.

* * *

Sam's phone vibrated against his thigh and he slowly rose up out of sleep, digging in his pocket for it.

"'Lo?"

"Where are you?" Amelia said.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. "It's not midnight."

"Get outside. We need to talk."

She hung up before he could say anything else. He stretched, his muscles tense, but not so much as before he'd gone to sleep. He was on his feet in less than five minutes for once.

He crept past the couch, expecting to see Dean asleep there. He wasn't.

The other bedroom door was closed.

Sam shook his head and walked through the kitchen, creeping out the back door and onto the service porch, looking out. Nikki's had half an acre of lawn before the forest began, and Sam jogged across it, hoping there were no motion lights. He made it into the woods without fanfare, stepping through the underbrush until he came to a small clearing.

He and Amelia had often had to meet with only a general description of the rendezvous point; Dick's wannabe successors had continued his habit of high-tech surveillance, and Sam Winchester was at the top of their watch list. It had become a regular thing for them to meet in a clearing nearest the meeting place to reduce the chance of someone they couldn't trust discovering that they were meeting.

The moon shone bright in the sky, and lightning bugs twinkled around him. In another context, meeting a beautiful woman on a moonlit grass patch would have been downright romantic, but if the year he'd spent cleaning up Dick's mess had taught him anything, it was that any romance for him was officially dead and buried.

He was about to call her again when he caught sight of the black trail speeding across the sky.

_Always gotta make a grand entrance, huh Mellie?_

The black substance raced toward the ground, and Sam backed up to the tree line, rolling his eyes.

She crashed into the ground with a low-decibel thud, black ooze splashing onto the grass. The molten ink lurched toward him, growing and molding until Amelia stood before him, wearing a black tank, Daisy Dukes, and a smile. She stopped inches in front of him, brows raised.

"You look like shit," she said.

"Big talker." He pointed at her mouth. "Still got a little fur in your teeth, there."

She slid her tongue over her incisors, removing the debris. Sam made a face.

She shrugged. "Girl's gotta eat."

Sam leaned against a pine. "More dogs, I assume."

"Only the ugly ones," she said.

"Nice."

"There are alternatives."

Her hand snapped onto his shoulder with an iron grip, pinning him to the tree trunk.

He couldn't keep a smile off his face. "Your strength is not for hurting. Remember the posters?"

"You never seemed to mind."

"Yeah, well, take it easy now. I'm fragile."

"Not anymore."

She let go of him and pulled a small bottle out of her back pocket.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"Chicken soup for the soul," she said. "Finally found that Ecuadorian wolfsbane. Don and Maggie whipped it up for us."

"Does it really work?"

"Ought to put a little pep in your step."

He downed it, screwing up his face at the taste. "Temporarily, though, right?"

"They're powerful witches, Sam, but they've got nothing on Head Reaper. Opening that portal took real magic – old testament stuff. Be glad you have even this."

He nodded in concession of the point, still pursing his lips at the bitterness of the elixir. "So what was so pressing? Thought we agreed on midnight."

"We got problems," she said, shaking her head. "Even bigger ones. That portal was for one soul and one soul only. Dean brought two."

Sam shook his head. "Benny's a vamp, Mellie."

"Still has a soul."

"So what's the problem? I mean, nothing crazy happened, right?"

She shot him a cynical look.

"Oh, God. What?"

"It's speeding things up," she said. "We should have had at least a year until the Bleed. But Saint Dean had to go and break the rules, didn't he?"

Sam swore and kicked at the dirt, the pain in his body already dissipating. "How much time do we have?"

"Hard to say. Two weeks, probably. Six weeks at the outside."

"Okay. We should be able to swing that, right?"

"We'd better. If that portal opens any wider, our goose is cooked."

* * *

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	5. Deep Water

"Down!"

Benny ducked as Dean swung the blade, striking the attacking vampire in the shoulder and sending it scurrying back against a tree. Another vamp jumped down from above, narrowly missing Dean as it crashed to the ground, snatching at the blade.

Benny swiped at the vamp's legs with his own blade, severing them at the knee. The vampire screeched in agony, and Benny didn't waste any time – he dove straight for its chest, tackling it to the ground and beheading it with one smooth stroke.

The other injured vampire tried to stumble deeper into the woods, but Dean caught up with him, yanking him backward by the collar of his shirt. The vampire coughed as his back struck the ground with a loud thud, and Dean straddled him, his knees pinning the vamp's shoulders to the wet earth.

"Going somewhere?"

Dean's breaths came in great swallows and he was tired as all get out, but Scrooge McDuck couldn't have paid him enough to give up the kill. He grinned, holding the blade to the thing's throat, its pale skin practically glowing in the moonlight.

Its arm was nearly severed from its shoulder and the vamp knew he was caught – Dean could see the recognition in its eyes. He didn't bother to struggle.

"Get on with it, asshole," it said, retracting its fangs.

"My pleasure."

Warm blood soaked the thighs of his pants as he slashed the blade across the exposed flesh, and flowed over his hands as he tossed the head into the woods. He wiped the blade in the grass, an exhilarated and toothy grin on his face.

"All clear?"

Benny was striding toward him, wiping the bone-crafted handle of his blade on the hem of his shirt. The blood on his clothes looked black in the moonlight, and Dean was reminded of a Leviathan they'd killed in Purgatory. He'd been bigger than most of the others they had hunted, and the pool of blood it had left behind had been one for the books; he and Benny had spent hours washing in the river, trying to get clean.

"Looks like it."

Benny helped him to his feet, and the two of them crossed the clearing back to back, blades at the ready. When they reached the other side, they relaxed, and Dean gave a small chuckle.

"Man," he said, "you sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

Benny retracted his fangs and stretched, the cracking bones clearly audible in the night silence. "Just cain't seem to help myself."

"It was just these two?"

Benny nodded, starting in the direction of the cabin. Dean followed. "Yeah. There were others, back in Little Rock. Didn't want to join the pack, and they weren't too excited about a freelancer knowing too much about 'em. They just sent this pair after me to finish me off, I guess. Can't smell any others 'round here."

"Shame. Could have taken out the whole pack, plus whatever mystery meat was with them."

Benny looked askance at him. "Just us?"

"Yeah, who else?"

"Don't think that's a lot of potatoes?"

Dean slapped his back. "C'mon, we used to cut packs like butter. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Had enough adventure for now, I think." He reached for the door to the cabin, yanking it open and heading in. "Could use some down time."

Dean was careful not to soil any of his other clothes as he searched through them for a towel. The last thing he needed was Sam stumbling across a pile of drenched clothing when they hadn't been on a hunt this bloody in weeks.

"Downtime's overrated," Dean said, slipping off his jacket and shirt and tossing them into the small storage closet. "Too much time to think."

Benny tossed his shirt on top of Dean's. "Got that right," Benny said. "Haven't slept a full day since we got back."

Dean paused in the midst of tossing their weapons into the bag they'd brought, looking over at Benny. "You either?"

Benny shook his head. "'Course, these other vamps on my tail ain't helpin', but the dreams…well, I ain't had this much time to sleep in a while, and I sorta wish I didn't."

"Know how you feel," Dean muttered. "Sam likes to bitch about how he can't sleep because of the trials, and I gotta choke down a laugh."

"Yeah." Benny grabbed the other bag of weapons and started for the door. "C'mon. Let's get to the river. You got to get back on the road if you want to be up in St. Louis 'fore first light."

They didn't bother the lock the cabin door; wouldn't keep out anything that really wanted to get in. Neither of them said much on the way to the river, and when they arrived, Dean tossed his bag against the tree and peeled his bloody shirt off and threw it up into the lower-hanging branches.

"Anything trackin' us later's gonna be disappointed when it finds a bloody rag in a tree 'stead of us."

Dean waded into the water until he was up to his chest. "Fine by me. Think we should leave a bitchy note up there with it?"

Benny dove into the water headfirst. For an instant, Dean was alarmed – what if there were rocks on the bottom? – but then he remembered who he was with and chuckled. _He's not Sam,_ he thought, dunking his head beneath the cool water. _You don't have to wipe his ass every five minutes. _

Benny took off, swimming downstream and only occasionally coming up for air. Dean stayed near the bank where the current wasn't so strong and rinsed the blood off his body. He thought of the distance back to Nikki's, wondering if he could take a shortcut-

A large branch snapped off to Dean's right.

Dean feigned nonchalance, creeping slowly back to the bank. He peered out into the darkness, looking for the faintest sign of movement. The trees weren't so thick in this area, and there were only a few places whatever it was could be hiding. He couldn't see or hear anything, so he stepped out of the water and walked calmly toward the bag of weapons, silently cursing Benny for taking off so soon.

_What the hell is he doing? _Dean thought, rifling through the bag. _Why didn't he hear that?_

Dean put his back to the tree, pulling his largest blade out of the bag. He hadn't heard a sound since the branch, and he had no real way to locate the vamp if it didn't attack first. He looked back out over the river and tried to spot Benny. Hunting vamps solo was a stupid idea, and Dean knew searching the area for it without Benny was a good way to get killed.

After several minutes passed without the vamp appearing, Dan tossed caution to the wind and whirled around the tree, holding his weapon out in front of him. He stepped quietly, one foot over the other, from tree to tree, listening hard for any sound.

_This is nuts, _he thought, starting to wonder if he'd actually heard anything. _Any vamp out here could have made an early breakfast of me no problem by now-_

His peripheral vision picked up faint movement off to his right. When he snapped his head in that direction, of course, whatever had been there was gone.

He crept in that direction, his senses fully engaged. The trees, the darkness, the blade, the skulking monster – all of it was Purgatory 2.0, and Dean could feel himself getting back into the zone, his prey drive kicking in and taking over.

He spared a glance into the treetops, scanning for anything that might be there, and once he cleared them, he climbed one of the trees. Settling on a decent-sized limb, he waited, still as death.

Benny didn't return.

A growing sense of dread settled in his midsection as he considered the possible reasons for that.

_Stay focused,_ he chided himself, scanning the area around him. _Worry about that later. _

Dean was unaware of how much time passed before the monster crept out from wherever it was hiding and stepped warily into the clearing, seeking him. It stopped in the middle to listen out for him.

It was a man.

No fangs, at least none that Dean could see.

No claws.

No hissing.

No twisted face.

No crazy hair.

_Another hunter? _He thought, straining to get a closer look. It wasn't implausible to think one might come after Benny. But Dean would have noticed any other cars following them to this remote spot if that had been the case – sound carried out here, and it was hard to sneak in any beater a hunter could afford.

But as Dean watched it circle him, it became clear that the thing wasn't a man. At least not _just _a man.

It moved too smoothly, even for a hunter – there was something preternatural about it.

_Do the autopsy later, _he told himself. _Kill it now. _

When it passed under him again, Dean dropped down onto it from above.

It clearly hadn't been expecting that, which, Dean reasoned later, is probably what saved his hide.

It crumpled to the ground in a heap, too surprised to cry out. Its body was small – to Dean, it felt like jumping on a scrawny fifteen year old – but it was strong. Once it had recovered from the shock, it elbowed Dean in the face, nearly breaking his nose, and threw Dean the ten feet to the base of the large tree.

His back slammed into the trunk, the wind rushing out of his lungs in a huff. He tried to draw more breath and was only marginally successful. He felt around for his blade, but it was gone.

"Dean Winchester," the thing said, striding over to him, "I've heard of you."

It picked him up by his throat, squeezing tightly, and pressed him against the trunk of the tree. Dean struggled, tearing at the thing's hands.

"So you made it out of the Phantom Zone." It leaned in close.

Dean felt himself getting dizzy and fought harder, knowing he was out of options. The thing's grip got tighter and it raised Dean higher.

Just before Dean passed out, Benny sprinted in from somewhere to Dean's left and tackled the thing to the ground. Dean dropped to the earth, coughing and reaching into his back pocket for his silver knife.

_Old faithful. _

Benny and the thing were wrestling around on the forest floor, and the thing actually appeared to be getting the upper hand. Once he'd caught his breath, Dean ran over, knife at the ready, and plunged the blade into the thing's back, right where its heart was.

It screamed and yanked the blade out, tossing it across the small clearing, and jumped off Benny, turning his attentions instead to Dean.

"Ouch," it said with a sneer, straightening its shoulders.

Dean had a small flint knife strapped to his ankle, but somehow, he doubted it was going to have much effect.

"Nothing personal," Dean said, his mind back with his bag on the bank of the river. _Gotta get to it._ "Just business."

Benny feigned injury on the ground – Dean knew the look by now – and he concentrated on distracting the thing.

It stalked toward him, oddly confident about having his back to Benny. "You're a legend, you know," it said. "Does Sammy know you're sleeping with the enemy here?"

"Don't ask, don't tell," Dean said. _It should have attacked me by now, _he thought. _Why isn't it worried we're gonna pull a fast one on him?_

Benny picked up Dean's discarded Purgatory blade and took a well-aimed swipe at its legs. The thing sensed it, jumped five feet in the air, and landed, casting a scathing glance over his shoulder at Benny.

"Really?"

Before Benny could get to his feet, the thing kicked him squarely in the face, knocking him unconscious.

Dean took the moment of the distraction and took off for the bank.

He sprinted as fast as he could, sure the thing could catch up with him if it wanted. But it was arrogant, and seemed sure that they wouldn't have whatever they needed to kill it.

_Probably right. _

He reached the bag, looking over his shoulder for the thing as he rifled through it. He didn't see it, and that made him even more nervous – the thing was just fucking with them at this point. Which meant it was a bad son of a bitch, because with their rep, it should have been running for the hills.

Dean's digging had an air of desperation now. He found and tossed aside weapon after weapon – salt rounds, regular rounds, the demon knife, holy water – none of it was going to do shit against this thing. He was beginning to lose hope after he tossed aside a small vial of holy oil when he caught sight of a small revolver at the bottom of the bag.

He hadn't seen it in years and had thought for sure they'd never need it again, but boy, was he glad they'd kept it. He grabbed it and opened it, relieved to see there were several bullets left.

He got to his feet and whipped around. It wasn't behind him.

He heard Benny cry out and took off for the clearing.

The thing had him in a head lock and was about to twist Benny's head off when Dean aimed and took the shot. He caught the thing in the shoulder, but that was enough.

It immediately dropped Benny and fell onto its back, writhing and screaming. And orange light spread under its skin until its whole body was aglow, and it rolled around like it was on fire.

Which, Dean reminded himself, it was.

A puff of black smoke escaped its mouth as it clawed at its throat, and rivulets of black ooze ran out of its pores and into the earth. After a minute or two, it went still and the glow died.

Dean walked over to Benny and pulled him to his feet.

"What took you so long?" he asked, shoving the gun into the back of his pants. "I was stalking this thing just short of forever."

"Can't hear so well underwater," Benny said. A cut on his wrist was healing rapidly; Dean could feel with every beat of his heart how bad his own face must have looked and was a bit jealous. "And this thing was pretty silent."

"Was this the thing that was with the pack in Little Rock?"

"Smells like it." He tapped the thing with his foot. "What the hell'd you shoot him with, angel dust?"

"Close," Dean said, wondering what his back looked like. _Gonna have to be crafty come shower time, sharing motels with Sam. _"Phoenix ash."

Benny looked amused. "And how'd you know _that_ would work?"

"Let's just say I've been there and done that."

"You know what this thing is?"

"Not exactly," Dean said. "They come in a lot a flavors."

"Got a name?"

"Last time we dealt with them, we called them Jefferson Starships. But I'm always open to suggestions."

* * *

Crowley slipped off the plastic apron and hung it on a hook in the corner of the crypt. Abaddon was still shrieking like a banshee with a rod up its arse, of course, but he finally had what he wanted. _'Bout bloody time, _he thought, climbing out into the night. It was nearly pitch black, and he looked up at the stars and the sliver of the moon.

_This is risky fucking business. _

But Riggs and Murtagh would never leave well enough alone as far as the hot gates went – they'd made a crusade of it, and they'd see it through if it killed them. He had decided not to bother handing their saved ones any more first class tickets to heaven; it was a waste of time and would only serve as a motivating force. It was high time to admit that he would never win fighting them head to head; as much as it dinged his pride, he had never been one for magical thinking. As buggered as he'd be if it backfired, this was the only way to stop them.

The cosmos had rules that not even the Doublemint Twins could break, and he'd have to make those rules work in his favor if he had any shot at longevity.

He cracked his neck and Bale appeared, looking every bit the angel of death in his black suit.

"It's rude, you know. Copying someone's outfit."

Bale looked down at his sleeves and straightened his tie. "Mine is Italian."

"Cute."

"You summoned?"

"Yes." Crowley waved his hand and a piece of paper appeared. He handed it to Bale. "Find them. They're twins. Estranged."

"Where would you like them, my lord?"

He sighed, thinking. "There's a crypt in Missouri with a baptizing pool in the floor-"

Bale shot him a bemused look.

"-that should do in a pinch. Clear the area, yeah? Don't want any surprises during the ritual."

Bale nodded curtly and disappeared.

* * *

He made it back before sunrise, not that that was much consolation.

The Impala rolled to a stop in front of Nikki's house and Dean put it in park, wishing he'd resisted the urge to look in the mirror before he left the cabin. Benny had warned him it was bad, but he hadn't been prepared to see the mass of black and blue radiating outward from the center for his face. His throat was also covered in bruises.

And yet, he couldn't find it in him to complain, even to himself. He felt more alive now than he had in weeks – he hadn't realized just how much Sam's bullshit had been dragging him down. He could still feel the vamp's blood pouring over his hands, and for the first time in years, he felt like…like _himself _again. The man who had dragged Sammy away from Stanford and gone on an evil bitch killing spree. The man who never thought twice about slicing monster throats, never hesitated, and never looked back. And he needed to be that man again. He wasn't going to make it any other way.

He'd find a way to keep hunting. Even after the gates were closed. Even if Sam wussied out and quit again. It didn't matter. It was who he was. It was who _they_ were. And Benny would never quit on him. He was sure of that in a way he wasn't sure of anything else. Benny felt the call of blood as strongly as he did – if not quite in the same way – and Dean doubted Benny could stop if he wanted. And that suited Dean right down to his oft-broken toes.

He smiled.

They had buried the Starship right where it had fallen and headed back to the cabin without stopping to bathe – they hadn't wanted to try their luck twice. Dean had slipped into some clean clothes and left his blood-soaked jeans to dry on the line they had set up outside, and hopped into the car, giving Benny a two-fingered salute as he drove off.

He had spent the drive up pondering the Starship.

_Must be one that survived after we ganked Eve, _he reasoned. _There's no other explanation. No way it escaped from Purgatory – it'd've needed a carrier, and I was the only human in that bitch. _

But they hadn't come across a single one in years, and hadn't heard so much as a peep about them on the wire. He supposed they could have been killing silently for all this time, making the murders look human, but-

_You have more pressing issues right now, don't you think? What the hell are you gonna tell Sam about your face?_

His mind had been completely blank on that subject for the whole ride, but now that the clock had run out on his thinking time, he had an idea. It was nuts, but it would probably work.

If Sam wasn't awake yet.

He opened the door as carefully as he could, wishing he'd listened to Sam when he'd suggested that WD-40, and crept around the back of the house.

* * *

Sam awoke to the sound of pipes groaning above his head, and a moment later, water began to run. It was barely light out – he could see the amber glow of the street lights through the curtains at the window. He rubbed his eyes, looking over at the clock radio.

6:12.

_Little early, don't you think, Dean?_

He closed his eyes again, stretching out on the bed. He winced prematurely in expectation of the pain, and he had to think for a moment before he remembered why it didn't come.

_Hell of a drug,_ he thought, turning onto his stomach. _Might actually get something done today if it lasts-_

The water went off in the bathroom and he heard Dean step out of the shower; he is brother had always had heavy feet when he wasn't hunting. Many a morning he'd woken Sam with his stomping around their motel room.

He sat up in the dim light and reached onto the floor for his bag, which was missing.

_The car. _

He was crossing the living room in his socks when he heard an enormous thud, followed by several dozen smaller thuds and a groan. He headed back down the hall.

"Dean?"

"What?" He sounded like he had a head cold.

"You okay in there?"

Sam could practically hear him roll his eyes through the door. "I can get dressed by myself, Sam. I'm a big boy."

"Doesn't sound like it."

To his surprise, Dean laughed. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You'll see."

"What does that mean?"

"Gimme five minutes."

Nikki appeared in the doorway to her bedroom, eyes narrowed with sleep. "What the hell's going on out here? It's still night…"

Sam smiled. "Late riser?"

"Unfortunately for you two." She yawned and stretched, pressing her cheek to the bathroom door. "You know, it's safer if you sit on the toilet and do it. You don't slip that way."

"Ha ha."

"You need a first aid kit? I got colored band aids."

"I'm more of a clear plastic kind of guy."

"Prude."

They went on teasing each other as Sam went out to the car, waving at someone as they backed down their driveway in a pickup truck. The Impala was down by the sidewalk and Sam trudged across the grass, figuring he'd just wash his socks later. He reached the door of the car and paused before he opened it, thinking.

The car was parked slightly farther up the block than it had been the day before.

Wasn't it?

He pulled his bag from the back seat, trying to remember. He'd been pretty out of it, but could have sworn that the car was parked right in front of the path to the door…

_Doesn't matter. Maybe it rolled or something. _

He headed back inside, tossing his bag onto the couch.

Dean rounded the corner from the hall, his posture unusually stiff. Sam did a double-take – Dean was wearing a knitted turtleneck and his nose looked like Vin Diesel had practiced sparring with it.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

"Had an urgent meeting with the sink," Nikki said, emerging from the kitchen with a bag of ice. She and Dean sat down on the sofa and she handed him the bag, a wry smile on her lips.

"Damn," Sam said, dropping into a chair. "You gonna be okay to go toe to toe with Crowley?"

"Eh, we been through worse." He rested his head against the wall behind him and balanced the bag on his face. "But speaking of which, while you were making out with the Sandman, me and Nikki made some progress on that front."

"Yeah? What'd you find out?"

"We're down to seven seals," she said. "They're all possible, and most are easily doable. It's gonna come down to you guys to figure out which one he'll choose. You two actually know him."

"What are they?"

"We got two involving releasing plagues with spells, and another one that calls for the sacrifice of an eagle, of all things-"

"Plus that one where he'll have to turn a true believer to evil," Dean added.

"Sounds time consuming," Sam said.

"Then there's feeding a sinner his own flesh under a full moon-"

"Nice."

Dean snorted, then groaned. "Then we got a burnt offering to Lucifer with an animal that has hooves, and last but not least-"

"Drowning a virgin in the blood of a whore."

"Ah."

"So what do you think?"

Sam tapped his tongue against the back of his teeth. "I think we can cut out turning a good man evil. I get the feeling he's in a rush, and that one would take a while."

"I think we can drop the plagues, too," Dean said thickly. "Not really his style."

"Neither is the burnt offering. Can't see Crowley making an offering to anybody, much less Lucifer."

Nikki frowned. "Bald eagle, then?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. That's just lame."

"Pretty illegal, too."

"So we got the flesh of the sinner and the blood of the whore," Sam said. "He's a fan of peeling flesh. There a full moon coming up?"

"Nope," Nikki said. "New moon tomorrow, so not for a while."

"So if we assume he's got a deadline, house money's on the virgin. How're we gonna find her?"

"The $64,000 question."

"Does the lore say anything about what kind of virgin?"

Dean sat up slowly. "How many kinds are there, Sam?"

"I meant," Sam said, "do they have to be a certain age? Type? That kind of stuff."

"Nope," Nikki said. "Just says virgin and whore. No specifics."

He sighed, peeling off his dirty socks and shoving them into the bag. "So how're we gonna narrow this down?"

Dean set the bag of ice down on the coffee table, standing. "I might have a way."

"What?"

Dean walked stiffly toward the door. "Demon. Got Crowley's old job. We scratched each other's backs recently, and with a good prod, she'll turn state's evidence."

_Recently?_ "When did you have time to get chummy with a crossroads demon?"

Dean sighed, wincing and leaning against the doorframe. He shot Sam and exasperated look. "It's not important, Sam. Just get a trap ready in the basement; Everything you need is down there, trust me."

"But what-"

"And find a good summoning spell, too. There's no crossroads around here we can dig into without getting run the fuck over."

"And where are you going?"

Dean was wearing a gassy expression that Sam realized was supposed to be a smile. "You two kids hang tight. I gotta hit Walgreens. We're out of pictures, and we'll need one to bag a Crossroader no matter what."

"Wait," Nikki said, rising. "I'll go with you."

"I know my mug looks like I just ditched Ike, but I think I can handle it."

"How you gonna drive like that, Dean?" She put a hand on his shoulder and he winced. "Looks like you hurt more than just your face."

She was right; now that Sam really looked at him, Dean was pretty beat. It was odd. Dean might have been heavy footed in the morning, but he wasn't clumsy, and Sam couldn't remember the last time he had fallen outside a fight. His voice was quieter, too; barely above a whisper. She shot Sam a wink, nodding softly in Dean's direction. _Let him go,_ she mouthed from behind Dean.

"Yeah, okay," he said, gesturing out the door. She stepped past him. "You drive."

And now he was letting someone else drive him?

"Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam and raised an eyebrow. Then he shrugged, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the front door with a soft click.


	6. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Dean massaged the back of his neck with his hand, wincing.

Nikki's car was even smaller than it looked from the outside, and he'd spent half the day hunched like Shaq in a tree house as they rode all over town, gathering supplies. She'd done most of the shopping; he'd been fine when they'd left that morning, but he was really feeling his bruises by the time they reached the drug store. _Perfect time to take a picture, too, _he thought, staring at the one in his hand. _Look like I had an emergency appointment with the ground. _

He dropped the picture into the bowl on the table, stretching his shoulder again. Nikki eyed him curiously; he offered her a half-smile.

Sam appeared at the top of the stairs. "Found it," he said.

"Finally." Nikki took the acacia form him and dropped it into the bowl. "It was right there in the drawer."

"Yeah, under a bunch of taco seasonings," Sam retorted.

"It was on the side of them. You should have been able to see it fine."

"Yeah, right! They-"

"Settle down, kids," Dean said. "Daddy has to make an important call."

Sam rolled his eyes and handed Dean the summoning ritual. "Took me hours to find this," he said. "Doesn't need an incantation. Hope it works."

He took it, looking it over. "Eh, it should do," he said. "Got the knife?"

"You sure you don't want me to do this, Dean?" Nikki asked as Sam handed him the blade. "No offense, but you look like hell."

He slit his wrist in response, letting the blood drip into the bowl. "I been at this a while," he said. "I got it."

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me," she muttered, leaning her hip against the table.

Dean shot her a look as he pressed his other hand against the wound. "We brought soap, you know. We can make you wash your mouth out."

She grinned, meeting his gaze. "I'm grown."

"You're a fetus."

"I'm a hunter. We're lucky to make forty. I'm pretty much middle aged."

C_an't argue with her there, _he thought.

He turned to Sam to ask for the lighter, and saw that his brother was looking back and forth between him and Nikki, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Something funny?"

Sam shook his head, the grin finally breaking through. "Nope."

"Just gimme a light, Sam."

Sam struck a match and dropped it into the bowl.

The fire flared and suddenly, there the demon was in the trap on the floor, looking around the room with mild amusement. The lack of fanfare of most demon summoning rituals had always bemused Dean; one would think there'd be more fireworks for such an event. But she simply appeared in the empty space on the floor – no strings, no brass, no laser light show.

"Whatever happened to doing things the old fashioned way?"

"Times change."

She looked pointedly at Sam, a sinister grin appearing on her face. She moved as close to them as the devil's trap would allow; the light bulb in the ceiling flickered.

"But some things don't, it seems."

Sam bristled. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just meant the two of you are still in the game, slitting your wrists and summoning demons in dingy basements." She cocked her head. "Why so touchy, Sammy?"

"Hey," Dean said, drawing her attention back to him. "This isn't a high school reunion, so let's skip the where-are-they-now. You're here for a reason."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"Your boss is up to something-"

"I'll say," she said with a self-satisfied smile. "Thanks to you."

Sam shot him a curious glance, but Dean subtly shook his head.

"Meaning?"

"I followed up on your generous tip about the redhead. Rumor has it the King invited her over for dinner and drinks, and she hasn't been seen since."

"Wait," Sam said, stepping forward, "are you saying that Crowley killed _Abaddon_?"

She shrugged in mock innocence. "Dead, alive, who can say? But I will pass along the King's thanks. I'm sure she proved quite valuable either way."

_Damn, _Dean thought. _Was counting on her as a bargaining chip. _

"Yeah? She helping him out breaking those seals?"

The demon's smile slipped a little at that. "Damned if I know. That's high level stuff. Grunts like me don't really get the inside track."

Sam shot her an icy smile. "So you have no idea where the next seal will be broken?"

"Nope."

"Why should we believe anything you say?" Sam crossed his arms. "You aren't exactly renowned for your honesty."

"I guess that's just the world we live in." She shrugged. "But Big Brother here trusted me to pass on his little message to the bosses without getting him killed, and here he stands, a little worse for the wear, but alive and well. So don't _you_ lecture _me_ about honesty, Sam Winchester. You summoned a crossroads demon, and that's what you got."

"So you got nothing for us?"

"Nothing about where the King's next sealbreak will be," she said. "But you'd better hurry. Time's running out." Her gaze settled on Sam again, and Dean thought he felt something pass between them. "Isn't that right?"

He cast Sam a sidelong glance, taking note of his discomfort.

"We'll get it done," Sam said after a moment. "But thanks for your heartfelt concern."

He pulled a hex bag from his pocket and tossed it to her.

She caught it and smiled, surveying them. "Learned a few new tricks, have we?"

Sam pasted on a sneer. "Lifetime scholar."

She vanished without another word.

"Hey!"

Nikki whipped around the table, as though she could catch the demon before she left. Dean admired the ease of her movement – she swung around the table with a grace that he hadn't felt in years. _The glory of youth. _

"What the hell was that, Sam? We weren't done-"

"She doesn't know anything, Nikki," Sam said, dumping the bowl into the small trash can in the corner of the basement.

Nikki strutted up to him. "How do _you _know that? We'd barely started questioning her-"

"Nikki," Dean interjected, "you mind if me and Sam talk for a sec?"

He could practically see the protest rise inside her, but she backed off, shaking her head.

"Whatever."

She stormed up the stairs, disappearing into the house. The basement door slammed shut behind her.

"Got something you wanna share, Sam?"

Sam ran a hand though his hair and then folded his hands behind his head, looking away. "She doesn't know anything."

"So you _do_ know her?" He chuckled darkly, pacing. "Guess old habits die hard."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You've got nerve talking shit to me about hiding things, Dean. Sounds like you know her too."

"I tossed out some bait a few days ago in hopes of bagging Abaddon, all right? In case you forgot, we still gotta find a demon to cure to close these gates."

Sam's eyes bored into him. "How could I forget, Dean? I'm the one almost dying for these trials, remember?"

"Could have fooled me."

"And what does that mean?"

Dean shrugged. "You've been dragging around like a zombie for the last few weeks, but today you're dancing like Carlton Banks. Tell me, what happened to all that 'I'm so tired, these trials are killing me' and 'Oh, Dean, bring me some soup.' Was it all just bullshit? Or are you and Miss Crossroads up to something?"

Sam started to speak, then let his arms drop to his sides and shook his head.

"That's what I thought," Dean said. "Whatever, keep your lips shut. But something in the milk ain't clean, Sam. So don't bother trying to convince me you're on the up and up."

"Dean-"

"Forget it," Dean said finally, looking back over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs. "Just get ready to go out. We're low on dough and it's time to hit up a pool hall."

* * *

Nikki was sitting at the bar, looking dour as she sipped on something fruity with vodka in it. Dean ambled around the pool table, twirling the cue in his hand and doing his best not to stare at her.

The place was a dive, but it was apparently quite popular. From the outside, Dean hadn't been sure it was the kind of place where Nikki would be welcome, but she assured him the Harleys and the swastika tattoos were just for show. Sure enough, she barely merited a glance as they strolled in, Sam and Dean heading over to the pool table Nikki making a beeline for the bar, taking the first open seat she saw. They been here for almost an hour, and the game was just starting to pick up.

Dean took aim, striking the ball and sending five solids into the corner pocket. One of his chain-wearing opponents, who was in a considerably less friendly mood than he had been when the game started, eyed him nastily.

"You some kind of pro or something?"

"Or something."

He took another shot and missed, deliberately, and the man smiled, twirling his own stick and taking aim.

Dean took advantage of the break to steal another look at her. She was still pissed – staunchly refusing to so much as glance in the direction of the pool table – and already on her fourth drink. She'd been clipped and reserved on the ride over, giving him one-word directions and staring out the window. Not that he could blame her; people she trusted were keeping important things from her and she knew it. They were for her own good, but that didn't take the sting out of not being in the loop; he remembered well how he'd felt when Sam and Ruby's bloody secret had come to light.

_She's a vic, _he told himself as he eyed the line of her frame in the short dress she was wearing. _A hunter, yeah, but still a vic. Bad idea. _

"Hey." The other guy – the partner without the chain – was snapping his fingers in Dean's ear. "You're up."

Dean had lined up his cue again when he caught sight of Sam coming back from the bathroom. He beckoned, handing his stick to Sam.

"Knock 'em dead," Dean said, heading for the bar before Sam could protest.

A seat opened up beside her and Dean took it, throwing a few bucks down on the bar and ordering a shot of whiskey.

"Sure you can afford that?"

She was peering at him through curly bangs, her expression somewhere between contempt and playful.

"If that Mercedes is anything to go by, you can cover me."

She took another drink.

"Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"

"I have a job."

He chuckled, nodding at the bartender as he set he shot on the counter. "Hunting is a salaried position now?"

"Marketing. Took some time off work to hide from the King of Hell."

"A real job, huh? At your age?"

"I'm twenty-two, Dean. I went to college."

"Still…"

"Lucky for me, not everybody pulls the age shit on me."

"It's not about that."

She chuckled derisively. "So, what, you kicked me out of the basement 'cause I'm black?"

"It's complicated."

"It's not. You two are the legendary Winchesters, I'm just some young whipper-snapper, damn kids, back in your day, blah blah blah."

She took a long sip.

"You really think I believe that?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

He turned the stool toward her and put his elbow on the bar. She looked sideways at him, finishing off the rest of her drink. The front of her dress was lower now that she was sitting, and Dean's gaze traced the curve of her breast against the soft yellow of the cotton dress. Though the dress was knee-length when she stood, it had ridden up pretty far, and her bare legs were crossed alluringly under the bar. She'd kicked her shoes off.

"You got a monster-fighting bunker in your house, for one thing," he said, forcing himself to look at her face. "You have a house, for another. For god's sake, you hunted down the vamp that killed your boyfriend while you were…what? Seventeen? Sixteen?"

"And a half," she added with a small smile.

"The point is," he said, leaning closer, "you're no kid. I know that. It's just…me and Sam are always caught up in something crazy, and people who help us? They end up dead. I mean, we're only here with you now because Crowley's after you, right?"

She didn't want to do it – Dean had seen the same reluctantly accepting look on Sam's face more times than he could count – but she was admitting to herself that he was right. She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, holding up her glass as the bartender passed.

"Fine," she said. "Keep your damn secrets. Sounds like you'll be leaving soon anyway."

He shrugged. "Rolling stones."

He gasped and looked down as he felt her foot on his calf, not having expected that.

"Not every day a girl gets to host superstars like you," she said. Dean watched her lips move over the rim of the glass. "Seems like we should commemorate the occasion."

_Don't do it, Dean. _

"What did you have in mind?"

"Hmm…" Her hand found his knee and began a slow upward journey. "Well, since you crashed on the couch last night…"

_Better stop this. You have to see her in the morning-_

"…I figure you could use a good night's sleep on a bed, you know?"

Her hand stopped short of his crotch and started down toward his knee again.

"W-"

Her head snapped toward the other side of the bar before he could get another word out. He tried to get a lock on what she was looking at, and then he saw – a man, walking very purposefully toward the exit. He was glancing around furtively, and the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood up.

"Get Sam," he said to her.

Dean forced his way through the small crowd, following the man out the door. He pulled a gun out of the lining of his jacket, removing the safety as he followed the guy across the parking lot. The man was picking up speed, powerwalking toward the woods across the road. Dean's walk turned to a trot.

"Hey!" Dean was running now, determined not to let him get away. "Stop!"

The man stopped moving turned to him, a grin on his face. He blinked and his eyes were as black as the asphalt they stood on. The demon held up his hands.

Dean was tackled to the ground before he could speak, pain wracking his frame as his shoulder struck the pavement. His gun bounced away, and the demon on top of him pinned him with one hand and held a blade in the other, raising it above Dean's chest.

"Sorry, boss," he said. "Nothing personal."

There was a loud bang and then blood was dripping onto Dean's shirt. A hole appeared in the demon's head and it seized up, trying to recover from the shock. The knife trembled in its hand.

"Dean! Move!"

He wrestled out of the thing's grip, rolling away just in time to avoid the knife. He collapsed onto his back in the middle of a parking space; his spine felt like it was on fire.

_Not good. _

Nikki ran over and knelt beside him, tossing her purse aside and shoving the gun back into her thigh holster. "You okay?"

"What are you doing out here?" He yelled, gritting his teeth in pain. "I told you to go get Sam!"

"He's on his way!"

"Go back inside!"

She ignored him and went over to the demon. He was on his hands and knees now, full of rage as he assessed Nikki. Blood dripped from his mouth as well.

"You bitch," it spat, barely able to turn its head. "What have you done to me?"

Nikki stood unflinching before it. "Where is the next seal gonna break?"

"None of your business, cunt-"

She delivered a barefooted kick to its abdomen that made it roar in pain and snatched its hair, turning its face up to hers. Dean tried to shout again, but he couldn't find his voice. The pain was blinding now, and there was no way he was gonna get on his feet anytime soon.

He shot a quick look around. The other demon was long gone by the looks of it, and they were far enough away from the bar entrance that nobody had noticed the commotion over the music.

_Where the hell is Sam?_

"Talk!"

She kicked it again. It roared and tried to move, but to no avail; the bullet was holding it in place. Dean sent a silent thank you to whatever had convinced him to restock the ammo supply before coming out tonight; she wouldn't have had the pentagram bullets otherwise, and his bacon would have been fried.

"It's too late," the demon said, still trembling. He must not have been very powerful, Dean reasoned; the gunshot wound was having too strong of an effect for him to be a higher level demon. _So what the hell is he doing out here?_

_And where is Sam?_

"For you," she said. "You're out here doing something, I know that. You come out here to kill the Winchesters? The King send you?"

"Keep your eyes on your own paper, hon," it said. "This isn't your fight. Leave it to the grown-ups, huh?"

She kicked him again.

It coughed and then sneered. "You can't hurt me."

"Maybe not," she said. "But after I exorcise you, you can go back to hell and explain to your boss that your targets aren't dead. Tell me, you son of a bitch, can _he _hurt you?"

The thing was silent as it considered its options.

"What do you want?"

"The seal. Where?"

The demon spat again.

"Why should I tell you? You'll just kill me."

"Better us than him. Unless you'd rather chance a performance review."

The demon growled again, turning its black eyes in Dean's direction.

"Sweetwater Baptist Church," it said. "The basement. It's a crypt."

_One of Lucifer's crypts, _Dean realized. _This is bad._

If Crowley was breaking seals in Lucifer's crypts, it meant he was up to something big – not just stopping him and Sam from closing the gates. Something worse.

He heard footsteps off to his right and was relieved to see Sam jogging toward them.

"Sam!" he yelled. "Over here!"

It hurt like hell to shout, but Sam heard him, and ran harder, kneeling beside Dean.

Sam was holding the demon knife. "What happened to you?"

"Demons," Dean breathed. "You hurt?"

Sam touched the front of his shirt; it was covered in blood. "It's not mine. There were more back there. I was coming after you when they jumped me…"

He caught sight of Nikki, who was still grilling the demon, and looked questioningly at Dean.

Dean managed a few more words. "I chased his partner out here…they baited me, and she put a slug in his brain."

Sam nodded rapidly, looking over his shoulder. "We gotta go. I just killed two people back there. Cops'll be here any minute-"

"Go, go, finish this one off. We don't need Crowley finding out about this any sooner than he needs to."

They left the demon's body by the dumpsters.

Nikki and Sam all but carried Dean to the car, and they only just cleared the parking lot when the police showed, entering from the other side. It was a good thing the lot was so big; any smaller, and they would have given the bikers of St. Louis one hell of a show.

Dean lay quietly in the back seat.

_No, _he thought. _No, no, no, no, no._

Nikki looked over the back of the passenger seat at him, her features twisted in concern.

"Is it any better?"

He tried to move his shoulder.

It felt like someone was shoving a knife into his spine.

He shook his head.

She reached between the seats and took his hand, squeezing it.

"We might have to go to the hospital, Sam. He's not better."

Sam didn't reply.

"Sam-"

"We're going home."

"But-"

"He'll be fine, Nikki," Sam said. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "I've got it covered."

"You-"

"I said," he whispered, "I've got it covered. Now sit down and put on your seat belt. Considering what just happened, we don't need to give the cops any more reason to pull us over."


	7. New Moon

The dying grass scraped the bottoms of Sam's feet as he paced to and fro on the lawn, fingering his phone and trying to think.

_He's hurt bad. _

Dean was in a lot of pain and hadn't provided many details about what happened in the parking lot, but whatever it was had quite possibly broken his back, and not in the metaphorical way. He didn't want to bring Amelia around when Dean could see her – it would raise too many questions, and they couldn't risk jeopardizing their mission – but he hadn't seen Dean this bad off since the hellhounds had come for him. Apart from risking a trip to the hospital, he didn't have too many options.

_God damn it._

He pulled up her number in his contacts and called her, running a hand through his hair. It rang six times, and then-

"_What?" _

He sighed with relief; he'd been afraid she wouldn't answer. "Come here. Now."

"_Your joints aching again already, gramps?"_

"Just do what I say, Amelia."

"_Ouch, Daddy. What's with the attitude?"_

"And bring that potion he Starks made me, too. A lot of it."

"_Are you hurt, Sam? Don't pull this mystery shit on me again-"_

"Enough!" He switched the phone to his other ear and bit his lip in frustration, willing his voice down. "Just get your ass to the house. Quickly."

He hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket.

This was not good.

Why had Crowley gone and done this _now_? They were so close to finishing this, and after almost a year of waiting for Kevin to decode the tablet and reveal the trials, he was beyond pissed that they were being derailed yet again. He couldn't believe it had taken the kid so long to decipher the damn thing – he'd read the Leviathan tablet like it was _Green Eggs and Ham_, and they'd had no reason to worry about a time crunch. But now, the whole thing was gonna fall apart in t-minus two weeks, and here they were, sandbagged by the King's games.

_We are gonna close his eyes for good when all is said and done, _he thought bitterly, making his way back into the house. _No more truces. _

Nikki was sitting on the sofa bandaging her feet when he walked in.

"Well, if it ain't 007."

She hadn't bothered to hide her contempt for his decision to keep Dean out of the hospital. She winced a bit as she treated a cut on her knee, but went back to deliberately not looking at him shortly thereafter. Sam gave an exhausted sigh, dropping into the shorter of the two living room chairs.

_No wonder she and Dean get along so well, _he thought. _They're practically the same person._

"Dean's gonna be fine," he said. "Help's on the way."

She seemed surprised at this, and some of the animosity melted from her posture. "Someone's coming? Like a doctor?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, actually."

"Look, I know hunters can patch each other up when push comes to shove, but unless your doc can do spinal surgery with a sewing needle and nylon thread, I don't know how much help he's gonna be."

He considered lying about using magic, but it wasn't like he'd be able to hide it for long; she was sure to notice Dean going from zero to hero in ten seconds either way.

_So much for keeping this all under wraps. _

"No surgery," he said. "Magic. Witchcraft, to be exact."

Most hunters hadn't dabbled in the dark arts as much as he and Dean had and didn't take kindly to using it, but Nikki didn't recoil the way he expected; instead, she narrowed her eyes and looked questioningly at him.

"What-"

Their heads both snapped in the direction of the bedroom when they heard the loud groan. Sam was first on his feet, racing down the hall.

Dean was laid out on the bed, a length of plywood placed under his back. His badly bruised face looked even worse in the low lamplight, and as Sam moved closer, he saw even worse bruising around Dean's neck.

_Jesus, _he thought, touching Dean's forearm to let him know they were there. _Demons really did a number on him. _

"Hey, Sasquatch," Dean mumbled, his eyes barely open.

"How's the pain?" Nikki asked softly. "Need more vicodin?"

Dean shook his head gently. "I'm on cloud nine, babe."

"Help's on the way," she said.

Dean reacted. "No doctors-"

"Relax," Sam said, squeezing his arm. "I'm not exactly a newbie at this, Dean. Don't worry about it. You're gonna be fine."

Dean chuckled. "Miss Crossroads not involved in this plot, is she?"

_Not the way you think. _

He cracked a smile. "Not this time," he said. "Been there, done that."

Dean fell into a shallow sleep after that, mumbling occasionally. Nikki turned to Sam, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and pulling an armchair from the corner up to the bed.

"Go wait for whoever's coming," she whispered. "He'll be fine."

He nodded, taking another glance at Dean before leaving the room.

* * *

Amelia was sitting on the couch, examining Nikki's soiled bandages.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he whispered, taking her by the arm. "She's gonna see you!"

She looked highly amused as he led her through the kitchen and onto the service porch, closing the door to the house with a loud snap.

"She?" Amelia leaned against the washing machine, eyeing him. "You cheating on me, Sam?"

He rolled his eyes, exhaling. "You're nuts for coming in the house like that," he said, shaking his head.

"I didn't know your girlfriend was here." She was as smug as ever; it seemed married human life had done little to temper her in that regard. "And after that heartwarming speech about me being faithful to poor Don…"

"He's your cover. You want to live on earth with us, you gotta blend in."

She put on a mock pout. "Can't I blend in as someone else?"

"You have to kill someone for that."

"People have killed for less…"

He scowled.

"Fine, don't laugh."

"It's not funny. I've been burned by monster chicks before. Not eager to repeat the experience."

"Oh, god, not the Ruby story _again_-"

"And if you don't keep your end of the bargain," he continued, "I got no issue with sending you to Purgatory with your brothers and sisters."

"Oh, don't be such a bitch, Sam." The playfulness was gone from her voice. "You don't have a prayer of getting through this without us horrible evil ones helping you. So stow the death threats. Asshole is a bad look on you."

She was moodier than she had been when they'd first met. At first, she'd barely registered his barbs and insults and simply hadn't responded to most of his human outbursts. It had been fine by him; he wasn't thrilled to be working with someone who wanted to eat him, and the more levelheaded she was, the better. But after they'd been on the road awhile, she'd warmed up to him and become a lot more comfortable in a human body. After that, they started…well, the world was ending, anyway, so who could blame him? It wasn't like they were in love, and after what they'd done to finish off Dick's extended family, it was hard to think of their relationship in terms of anything but survival.

"I don't have time for this," he said dismissively. There was enough going on; he didn't need this right now. "Did you bring the stuff or not?"

She shook her head, digging in her back pocket. The bottle she handed him was about the size of an avocado, and of a similar shape. He pocketed it.

"Thanks. I'll call you."

He started back into the house.

"It's funny," she said. Her feet were planted and her arms were rigid at her sides. She was pissed, and Sam knew, even as he prepared a retort, that he'd have to mend fences.

Later.

"What's that?"

"Back when Humpty Dumpty in there was M. I. A., you acted like you liked me, like we were on some kind of team. That's how you humans work, isn't it? Loyalty? Trust? All that bullshit?"

"We had a job to do," he said solemnly. "We _still_ have a job to do."

She nodded and smiled bitterly. "Right. I abandon everything I know and help you lock all of my kind away, and risk the integrity of the universe to get the golden boy back home, and you…what? Kill me when this is all over?"

Sam didn't answer. The truth was, he didn't know what was going to happen to them when this thing was done. He wasn't even sure he'd survive.

"Figures." She reached for the door into the yard. "But I guess I should have known better. Get us monster to do your dirty work so you can go on pretending you're the good guys. You and Dean, you pretend you're just so righteous and all about saving the world, but how much of that saving was only necessary because of you two, fucking with things? You're not better than me, Sam Winchester. I'm you, minus the platitudes. So get off your high horse. Before you fall and break your neck."

She stepped silently off the porch and into the night. Sam looked out after her, with a sigh, wondering how he kept ending up in debt to things that ate people. Then he went back inside.

* * *

Nikki looked up when he walked in. "He here yet?"

"Here and gone." He held up the bottle, and she came over and looked at it, frowning.

"Looks tasty."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Witchcraft always is."

She crossed her arms and looked tenderly at Dean. "You sure you can trust this guy?"

He walked up beside Dean and sat on the edge of the bed. "It'll work. Don't worry about it."

"That how you got better so fast?"

He didn't reply, opting to try and wake Dean instead.

She didn't ask again.

"Mmm…"

"Hey, man," he said, showing Dean the bottle. "Got you a little something."

"…hell's zat?"Dean's eyes were barely open and Sam could tell he was trying not to show how much pain he was in.

"Medicine. Open up."

Dean did, and Sam tipped the bottle into his mouth while Nikki looked on nervously. Dean coughed a few times and made a face at the taste, but soldiered through. Once the bottle was half-empty, Sam put the cap back on an pocketed it. He'd need more later; his last dose was already wearing off.

Dean fell back asleep and Sam rose, stretching. The bone-deep ache was returning to his limbs, and he really wanted to head it off at the pass. It was bad enough Dean had had to use the stuff; Sam didn't need him asking any more questions about his health until this was all done.

"Is this what's supposed to happen?"

Sam nodded, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "One of the ingredients is a pretty strong sedative, so he'll be out for a while."

"Yeah, well, he could use the sleep. Doesn't seem like it's a high priority for either of you."

He chuckled.

She turned serious. "Where'd you get this stuff, Sam? I've never met any hunters who could make potion to heal a broken back. That takes real power."

He was careful not to give any details. "We've crossed paths with quite a few people in our day," he said. "Some of them…do this professionally."

She shrugged. Sam could tell she wouldn't ask anything more; she wouldn't get anything out of him and she knew it. "Whatever, let's just hope it works."

"It will."

* * *

Sam awoke in the guest bedroom just as the sun was setting the next day. He started to sit up, but he was completely exhausted, his body resisting every effort at movement.

He looked at the bottle sitting on the nightstand.

_No point in waiting, _he thought, reaching for it. _Need the strength for tonight._

He did his best to swallow it quickly, polishing off the bottle. It was too bad he'd had to use it so soon; the potion got its regenerative properties from Leviathan blood, and Amelia was pretty pissed at him. Who knew when he'd be able to get more?

He had just shoved the bottle back into his pack when Dean knocked on the door and walked in, not bothering to wait for an answer. Sam was relieved to see that he was practically as good as new; even the bruising on his face was gone, and he wasn't nearly as stiff as he had been the last few days.

Dean closed the door softly.

"She still asleep?"

He nodded, dropping into the chair in the corner of the room. "Yeah," he said, keeping his voice low. "Didn't go to sleep until this morning."

"Let her rest. We don't have to be at ground zero until midnight, and it's only a half hour away if we take 70."

There was a brief silence. Sam could feel the potion beginning to work and he sat up slowly, stretching.

"I was in pretty bad shape."

Dean was staring intently at him, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked better than Sam had seen him in years; the lines around his eyes were gone, he didn't have a hint of a limp, and he was clear-eyed. _Looks like it worked a little too well, _Sam thought, cursing himself for using half the bottle. A fourth would have been plenty, but he had wanted to be sure Dean was okay.

"Better now, right?"

"I'll say," he said with a chuckle. The look in his eyes wasn't jokey at all, though. "Good as new. Bruises from the other day are gone, that sprain I got on the way to St. Louis has vamoosed, and hey! My broken back is as good as new!"

Sam wondered why he was bothering to stall. "Glad to hear it-"

"What did you do to me?"

_Shit. _"It was magic-"

"No shit."

"Dean-"

"What the hell was in that slime you poured down my gullet?"

Sam shrugged and looked away, wishing he'd come up with something to say the night before. "I don't know, it's witchcraft. There was some Ecuadorian wolfsbane, dandelions, eucalyptus leaf-"

"Bullshit. That demon snapped my back like a glow stick. Where'd you get the mojo to fix that, Sam? The Crossroads Princess?"

He sighed. "I didn't make it."

"The who did?"

"Don and Maggie," he said. At least it wasn't technically a lie. "Stark," he finished when Dean looked confused.

"What…the Divorce Court witches? Since when are we in bed with them?"

"Since they helped me out with a problem."

Dean got up from his chair, more determined than ever. "_What _problem?"

"Just because I took some time off doesn't mean I didn't have to get rid of the Leviathans, okay? I couldn't just leave them running amok."

"How could _they_ help you?"

"They had a spell to freeze them, remember that night at the motel? I didn't have any other way to hold them still, so…"

"So what, you went some kind of killing spree with Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"

Sam nodded, hoping Dean would believe it. It was mostly true. That had to count for something, didn't it?

"They didn't have any way to get me out the hole, though, right?"

He shook his head. "Didn't have nearly enough power."

Dean studied him, looking for signs he was lying. Sam did his best to hide them.

At least he looked away, reaching for the bedroom door. "Guess I'm lucky that portal was there, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam said, standing up to follow him. "Lucky."

They stepped out into the hall, stepping lightly to avoid waking Nikki. They went into the kitchen and got some spaghetti, sitting at the table to eat it. The tabletop was still covered with all of their research.

"So how do we wanna tackle this thing?"

Sam set his fork down in the bowl, looking at a Google Earth view of the church on his phone. "Doesn't seem like we have too many options. He's gotta know by now we're not dead. With Nikki, we'll at least be better off than we usually are."

"So we just rush in, guns blazing?"

"Got any other ideas?"

Dean took another bite of spaghetti. "Think Crowley knows she's with us?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"Just thinking," he said. "If he's moved on to breaking seals, he might not be hunting our old saves anymore. I mean, the guy's a dick, but he's not one to waste time on stuff that's not gonna push him forward. He hasn't threatened us or killed anyone in at least a week, and we know he has Abaddon. Hell, is he even still after the tablet?"

_We should keep more of that potion around, _Sam thought. _It's like Adderall. _"You're right, I hadn't even thought of that."

Dean smiled. "So if he doesn't know she's with us, he'll be expecting us to come alone. We go in, talk dirty for a few, Nikki sneaks in and grabs one of the vics, saves the seal."

"Can't he just break another?"

Dean shrugged. "Buy us a little more time to suss out what he's up to."

Sam closed out the map, looking up at his brother.

Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"Sounds like we got ourselves a plan."

* * *

Sweetwater Baptist Church was a shack in the middle of goddam nowhere.

_Should have known. _

This area of St. Louis County was heavily forested, and the map hadn't been much help once they'd turned off the state highway. Dean squinted in the darkness, trying to see through the dirt that had splashed up onto the windshield as they crept along the dirt road. Sam had the map open on his lap, and Nikki was checking the weapons in the back seat.

"How is it," Dean wondered aloud as he did his best to avoid the worst of the muddy potholes, "that these ancient demon safe houses are never off a main road? Did their witchy servants scry for the future locations of the interstates before they evil-ed up the place?"

"This church has been here a while," Nikki said. "My parents told me it was here when they came up my grandparents from Alabama in the fifties. They passed through here on their way west, and it had a bad rep, even back then. Guess now we know why."

Sam chuckled. "Whoever tried to have Sunday morning services here must have gotten a hell of a show."

Dean followed the road as the canopy of the trees got lower, resigning himself to the fact that they would have to wash the car – for real, this time – when all was said and done. "You sure this is the right way, Sam?"

He held up the map. "Map's not too detailed," he said, "but it's the only road. Gotta be the right one, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more. He'd doubted Sam's creative navigation in the past, and they were never the better for it; might as well swallow his pride and press on. "What all does he keep in these hidey-holes, anyway? Besides the tablets, I mean."

"Tablets?"

"Don't ask," Dean said.

Sam folded up the map. "Maybe this is where he keeps his needlepoint and his winter sweaters."

"He did say he didn't run hot."

"There!" Nikki was peering out one of the back windows. "I think that might be it."

Dean stared out Sam's window, trying to make out what she was seeing. The trees had thinned on the passenger side of the car, and a wide field stretched off to the east. The new moon was exceptionally dim, but he could just make out a small structure in the middle of the space. It was a modest, house-shaped building, and as they got closer, he saw the cross standing on the roof.

Sam shoved the papers on his lap into the glove compartment and shoved his gun into the back of his pants. "Let's go over it one more time-"

"Oh, my god, Sam, I got it, I told you-"

"This guy is bad news, Nikki," Sam said seriously. "We have to get this right. So we go over it again."

Dean parked the Impala a hundred yards or so from the church, killing the engine and the lights. "All right. Me and Sam will head inside and sniff out Crowley, see how many mooks he's got down there with him. We engage in some witty banter, keep him fluffed, and you come in-"

"-exactly ten minutes after you two leave the car-"

"-and find the vics," Sam finished. "The ritual goes down at midnight; he'll have them tied up and stashed somewhere until then. While we keep him busy, you get 'em out here and into the trunk-"

"'-which has a devil's trap drawn on it. Crowley won't be able to get to them." Dean could tell she was itching to get going. He smiled slightly, remembering when he'd been that age, feeling invincible.

Sam nodded. "If we're not out in ten minutes, you take off. Go back home; we'll meet you there as soon as we can."

"Got it."

"Watch your ass," Dean added.

She shot him an exasperated look. "I _will_, mother. Let's get going. It's eleven thirty."

* * *

**Sorry for the gaps between chapters; I've been busy with school. R&R!**


	8. Party's Over

Sam crept just ahead of him, the dim light of the low-wattage flashlight illuminating the knee high grass as they waded through it. Dean kept an eye out for any guards Crowley might have posted around the church, but they were alone. _Well, I'll be, _he thought. Maybe the demon they had summoned hadn't been yanking their chain, after all. Whatever Crowley was up to, he didn't want the paper-pushers to know about it.

Sam started up the church steps, but Dean caught him by the arm, gesturing at the side of the building.

"What?"

"There's no way the Crimson King doesn't know we're coming," Dean whispered. "That way's probably booby-trapped."

Sam looked disbelieving. "Kinda hard to booby trap a door that rotten."

"Nikki still needs a way in that's out of Crowley's sight," Dean insisted, as they walked around the back.

"So it's cool for her to get caught in the booby trap?"

"She won't, Sam. She's not an idiot."

"I'm not saying she is-"

Dean thought he heard something move and he froze, lowering the flashlights. But it was just an animal; he could hear it moving off to their right. He kept walking.

"A rigged door is an easy roadblock to get past," he said. "She'll be able to do it by herself, and without making too much noise. Any other way in's gonna be a pain in the ass. You want to make her crawl in through the basement?"

Sam nodded ahead of them, waving the flashlight. "That's our job."

He shined the light on a small grate off to their left, only a few feet from the church's eastern wall. It was slightly overgrown, but still looked like they'd be able to move it.

"Think he's got the tunnel blocked off with some kind of mojo?"

"Doubt it," Sam whispered, reaching for the grate. He tugged at it a few times before it came loose with a heavy concrete scrape, and he set it on the ground beside the hole. "We usually come busting right in, _Blazing Saddles_. Might not expect this MI-6 stuff."

Dean looked doubtful.

"It's this or the front door. What's it gonna be?"

* * *

They were getting way too fucking old for this.

Dean spit out a mouthful of muddy water. Sam stood a few feet away from him, grinning.

"Laugh it up, Sam."

"What's the matter, shortstop?" he whispered, helping Dean the rest of the way to his feet. "Monkey bars too high?"

He looked up at the hole they'd climbed down through. It was five feet above the top of Sam's head, and they'd had to drop down into this tunnel. Dean was eternally grateful this place hadn't been occupied after plumbing was widespread; this tunnel would have made a handy sewer, and the situation could have been a lot worse.

"C'mon," he said, wiping his hands on his pants.

The grate hadn't been far from the building when they were topside, but as the tunnel sloped sharply downward now, it seemed a lot further. Dean checked his compass to make sure they hadn't set off in the wrong direction, but they hadn't. So they continued, feeling their way along the muddy walls and trying not to trip on the wet, uneven ground.

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck began to prickle, and he found himself looking over his shoulder often. There was nobody there – at least as far as he could see – but he thought he heard something. It was fleeting and almost felt rather than heard, like heavy bass from the speakers of a passing car, and damned if it wasn't familiar…

The third time he looked, Sam noticed.

"Something wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Just a feeling."

They pressed on further, and Dean began to sweat, despite the cool temperature, and he suddenly couldn't shake the sense that something was terribly wrong. Before he could tell Sam, they reached the end of the tunnel. Dean was immensely grateful; it felt like they'd walked miles, and he was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. He swallowed and started testing the wall for weaknesses.

"You okay?"

"I fine," he replied, his voice shaky. He really needed to calm down; he felt like a toddler on a tilt-a-whirl. "Just tired from all the walking."

"What walking?"

"From the hole," Dean said. "Appearances are pretty damn deceiving around here. We're been creeping down here just short of forever."

One of the bricks fell loose, and Dean moved it aside. "And shit! How long have we been down here? Nikki's gonna come before we do." Dean dislodged some more bricks while Sam stood and watched. "Wanna help me out here?"

Sam took the bricks Dean handed him. "It's only been three minutes since we left the car, man."

"What?"

Sam laughed, holding up his phone to Dean's face.

"That…that can't be right," Dean said, looking at his own phone. "We've been walking for at least ten minutes. The tunnel…"

But when he looked back the way they'd come, he could see roots hanging from the hole they dropped in from.

It wasn't more than twenty feet behind them.

More sweat gathered on Dean's brow and he turned back to the wall in front of him. _Relax, _he said to himself. _It's just nerves_.

"Well, it felt like a while," he said.

He took away two more bricks, stacking them on top of the others. The blueprints told them they could get into the basement this way. Tunnel access had been sealed off in the nineteen forties after some fifty people had been murdered under here; apparently Lucifer's crypts were more than just a U-Store-It for his old Nintendo games. But those thoughts only made him more anxious, so he shoved them out of his mind.

"Are you-"

"Let's just get this done, okay? We don't know what the hell Crowley's got up his sleeve, and if we want time to figure it out, we got to stop this. So don't start."

Five more bricks fell to the floor. Sam picked them up wordlessly, and soon, they'd cleared enough space for them to fit through. They stepped into the space beyond the threshold.

Sam scanned his flashlight around, holding up his rifle along with it.

It was a great wooden room, roughly circular, and painted white glyphs Dean didn't recognize covered the walls. There were shelves too numerous to count, but they were all empty, and there were no cobwebs.

"Looks like Crowley cleaned the place out," Sam muttered.

"No surprise there. Where is he, though? There's no way he's not here."

"Think they demon lied about him breaking the seal here? It's possible."

"Nah, I don't think so. It _feels_ right, but there's something going on here, Sam…"

Sam's light found him. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know, I just-"

A slow clap started in the corner, and they whirled to face the sound, shining their flashlights toward the voice. There was nothing there, and they scanned the room fruitlessly, but came up empty.

"Playing hide and seek, huh?" Dean wandered in a small circle in the middle of the room, still searching. He aimed his gun and took a random shot at a corner and Crowley laughed, the sound echoing in the round space.

Invisible fingers snapped and torches caught fire around the room, bathing them all in firelight.

"Can's say this is a surprise," the demon said from off to their right. "But honestly, the secret tunnel? What is this, _Merlin_?"

Dean raised the gun again. "I don't know what you're doing, but you're not gonna get away with it, you fucking snake."

"Who spit in his bean curd?"

Sam pressed his back against Dean's. "Why are you breaking seals, Crowley?"

Dean could almost see the smug look on his face.

"Need a little insurance, and I'm afraid Lloyd's of London won't do in this case."

"Insurance for what?" Dean spat, shaking his head to clear his vision. He was sweating profusely again, and there was a sound, something barely audible that was raising gooseflesh on his arms…

"You two, of course," he said. He was suddenly in front of them, and waved his hand. A cigar appeared, which he lit with one of the torches. "Dunno why you can't just leave me be."

Sam piped up beside Dean. "The gates are closing. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it. We're ending this once and for all."

Crowley blew a smoke ring at Dean. "You ever get tired of his sanctimonious prattling?" he asked. "I tell you, I can't believe he's the duchess in the tower again,the key to saving the world, blah, blah, blah. Always a bridesmaid, eh Dean?"

Dean's head had cleared a bit and he took aim once more. "Where are the vics, you bug-eyed prick?"

"Dead."

Sam frowned. "Don't lie. The spell can't be cast until midnight-"

Crowley clicked his teeth. "Sharp as ever, I see. The ritual is performed in the _middle _of the night. Sun rises and sets early this time of year, ducky. I'm afraid the final seal is broken."

Dean prepared to fire, but the gun flew from his grasp before he could pull the trigger. He and Sam watched in disbelief as Crowley turned it over in hands. "Ingenious, these bullets you mooks have made. The redhead was impressed, too."

Dean shook his head and looked at Sam, who shrugged. "Son of a bitch."

"We're all sons of bitches, yeah?"

"If you knew we'd be too late, why'd you even bother to wait for us? Just wanted to rub it in our faces?"

"Of course," he conceded, "but I also wanted to have little chat. We've tread some high water together, you and I, so I figured I ought to do you a courtesy. You can still quit while you're ahead. The Winchesters have made enough sacrifices for the world, wouldn't you say?"

"We'll never quit, Crowley." Dean made sure his considerable anxiety didn't creep into his voice. "So you enjoy your throne room while you still got it. Because we'll be seeing _you_ again. Real soon."

Crowley nodded. "I don't doubt it. But it's just as well. And nobody can say I didn't try."

Crowley whistled a tune Dean didn't recognize.

Then, he grinned.

It took Dean a moment to recognize the sound, but when he did, his blood ran cold.

Sam reacted first, firing a salt round in the direction of the growl and striking the hellhound. Its blood dripped onto the dirt floor, black as pitch. Two more hounds snarled, and Dean could feel them moving toward him, but he couldn't seem to move from where he stood…

"Dean!"

He could hear Sam screaming and shooting beside him, but the sound was muffled, like there was cotton in his ears.

"Dean, get-"

* * *

"_-down!"_

_Benny swung the blade and struck the hound, lopping its head off and send its body flailing against a tree. Dean rolled to his right and got to his feet, cutting down another two hounds with his double-edged spear. They took off through the trees, Benny hauling the rougarou carcass over his shoulder. _

_The hellhounds howled as they tracked his and Benny's scent through the woods. They didn't stop, leaping over fallen logs and narrowly avoiding traps set by other monsters. They raced toward Black River, so named for the blood with which it often ran thick. If they could get there, the water and the blood would mask their scent. Hellhounds – even the dead ones in Purgatory – were blind. _

_They were really going to make it this time, it seemed. Usually, stealing a meal from a pack was suicide, but this time, they'd caught the hunters away from the rest of the pack and took them down before their cronies would join them. Dean leaped another log and there the river was in front of them. _

_Benny jumped in without hesitation, but Dean could never manage that; he had to psych himself up to jump into water so cold. He took a deep breath and went for it, surprised to find that the water wasn't as icy as it usually was. Benny was by his side in a flash, the rougarou floating beside his head._

"_I can't believe we got away with that," Dean said, coughing with a grin on his face. _

"_You learn a thing or two after you been here a while," Benny said. "That angel of yours oughta have some good campfire stories when we catch him up."_

_Dean was grateful that Benny had finally agreed to find Cas before they hightailed it out this hellhole. It would have been damn near impossible to keep the faith without a partner. _

"_How long before we head back to shore?"_

"_Depends," Benny said. "How fast they gonna get bored?"_

_He caught hold of a rock and rested against it, tired of treading water. "On Earth? They never got tired. Chased you down until you died."_

"_You speaking from experience?"_

"_Wish I wasn't."_

"_How'd you shake 'em?"_

"_I didn't. They dragged me down the pit."_

_Benny looked surprised. "You talk about going to hell like it ain't nothing. Is it that common?"_

"_As a June bug in July, at least for me and Sam."_

"_You're getting rusty. That's one of mine."_

_Dean chuckled. "You're growing on me."_

_The hellhounds were lining up on the bank now, invisible even in death, seeking their scent. Dean was glad he couldn't see them. After everything he'd seen in this place, he'd probably have lost his marbles completely if he'd been forced to look one of those things in the face. _

_The sun came out above them, and even in the cold water of that river of blood, Dean could stop and appreciate it. He wondered then just what sun it was that shone on them, and if the warmth it brought was real, or some inconceivable magic. _

_Even the water around him began to warm up, and though Benny was talking beside him, Dean couldn't hear him, as he slipped beneath the surface of the now-heated river and-_

* * *

-his face and neck were wet, but the heat in the room was oppressive, and Dean blinked, blinded by the sudden brightness. Sam's face was inches from his, and behind him, orange-yellow flames licked the walls of the room, climbing onto the ceiling. Nikki stood beside Sam holding and empty water bottle and yanking at his arm.

"We've gotta go!"

He let her lead him across the room and up a narrow flight of stairs, barely aware of what was happening. How had a fire started? They'd been talking to Crowley, and then there were the hounds, and then-

He tripped over a loose board and fell, choking on the smoky air around him. Sam came from behind him and dragged him to his feet, and Nikki yelled something again, tugging him by the wrist. He couldn't see jack shit, so he followed her lead, and soon they were tumbling down the church steps into the clean night air, smoke billowing like a dispossessed demon behind them.

They got a good distance from the building and collapsed into the grass, coughing and sputtering. They lay on their backs and watched the flames engulf the building.

Dean recovered first, sitting up. "We gotta get out of here," he said. "Fire department."

They stumbled to their feet, heading back toward the car. As they rolled back down the path that brought them in, Dean wracked his brains, trying to recall what had happened. _What the hell was that? _For the first time since he'd gotten back from Purgatory, he was well and truly frightened, and he didn't care for the feeling one bit.

"What happened back there?" He turned onto the state highway, keeping an eye out for cops. _Least I can still drive right. _"Somebody knock over a candle?"

His gaze was fixed on the road, but he could feel Sam staring.

"The hounds came for us," he said quietly. "I tagged them all, but Crowley summoned more. He just stood there grinning like the Mad Hatter while they closed in. We would have been done for if Nikki hadn't come in…"

She jumped in upon hearing her name. "I was in the church, looking for the vics, but I couldn't find any. There was blood in the baptizing pool, though. That must be where he did the deed."

"No bodies?"

She shook her head. "Just some bloody water. But I heard the hellhounds growling. I couldn't believe it – I've only read about those things, but that growl ain't nothing I've ever heard before. So I went down the stairs and saw you all down there, and Crowley had his back to me, so…"

Dean joined the interstate. "So what?"

"I kind of shot him," she said sheepishly.

Dean looked over his shoulder in disbelief.

She shrugged. "It worked. For a second, anyway. But it was long enough to knock over the torches and send the place up. I know the hounds don't like fire, so I figured they'd cut loose if it got too hot in there. They did, and when I turned back to see if Crowley was there, he was gone."

Their exit was coming up, and Dean took it. _Holy shit. _He couldn't recall any of that – not even the gunshot. This wasn't good. "Oh. Well…thanks, I guess."

She laughed, looking very pleased with herself. "You don't have to thank me. My ass would have been grass too if I hadn't done it. What I wanna know is, what the hell kind of magic did he lay on you? You were _gone_. We practically had to drag you out of the frying pan _and_ the fire."

Sam was still looking worriedly at him from the passenger seat.

"I don't know," Dean said finally, shaking his head. "Must have been something nasty, 'cause I don't remember a thing."

"Better figure it out. Otherwise you'll be toast next time for sure."

Dean pulled up in front of the house. "Yeah," he said.

* * *

Sam finished painting the last of the demon warding symbols on the windows, setting the brush and the paint can on the sill. Dean was a few feet away at the other window, looking very determined as his brush moved over the glass. They were sitting on buckets Nikki had brought in from the garage, exhausted, but they couldn't afford to sleep before they'd warded the windows and doors. After what Nikki had done to Crowley, he was bound to be pissed, and they weren't taking any chances.

He sighed and looked out the window into the night, remembering what Amelia had said to him before she took off. God knew it wasn't the first time he had heard those words – it seemed like every creature they'd ever put down had tried to get inside their heads that way, trying to shake their resolve. But now, Sam found himself wondering if she wasn't right.

If they hadn't _all_ been right.

It seemed like another world now, but he remembered how he'd felt back when he'd left for Stanford. He was excited, sure, glad to finally have some permanence for once. But hadn't there been something else, too? A sense of escape that had nothing to do with getting away from their dad and The Life?

For all their flaws, Dean and his father were in the game to get rid of evil – there was no doubt about that. But what about him? Why was _he _there? He certainly didn't love hunting the way his brother did – not by a long shot – but he felt a frightening sort of comfort, being around monsters, even in the beginning. And if he was honest with himself, _that_ was the reason he'd been so desperate to get away.

Yet even so.

Stanford couldn't protect him from what he was running from. He'd tried to deny it, even to the point of ignoring the dream about Jessica, but he knew deep down that college was nothing but calm before a storm, and that his comfort with the dark would eventually drag him back to the blood and bone he'd spent his childhood drowning in. Because it was where he belonged, whether he liked it or not. And after Jessica had died…well, he hadn't put up much of a fight when Dean asked him back.

And ever since then, no matter how hard Dean tried to hold onto him, he slipped into darkness with absurd ease and the best of intentions. First with Yellow Eyes, and then Ruby, and then the goddam devil himself. He'd spent lifetimes in the worst sections of hell, had his soul destroyed – which, let's face it, it wasn't all that pure to begin with – and once he finally pried The Dark Prince off his back, what happened as soon as Dean was gone?

He took up with witches and a demon and rogue angels and banged yet another monster, and though it was true that he wanted to get rid of the Leviathans and get Dean back from Purgatory, it was also true that he felt the most comfortable he had in years, maybe ever. There was no Dean to look with righteous disapproval at him and what he was, nobody to compare himself to and realize that he'd never measure up. They were fallen, just like him. Some had once been human, some hadn't, but they were tainted, marked, forever, and they knew it and made no apologies for it. They simply were what they were, and it had been refreshing.

But of course Dean was back now, and they had a job to do, but once it was done, what then? What w_as _he going to do?

Save people?

Hunt things?

Forever?

_Worry about the meaning of life later, _he thought, looking over at his brother. _Something's wrong with him, and you're kind of on a schedule, here._

Dean hadn't said anything since they'd come back to the house, and as much as Sam wished it was because he was tired, he knew better. As much time had passed since they'd been in this business, Dean was still fundamentally the same, and he wasn't going to talk about what was wrong until Sam dragged it out of him with a rusty pair of pliers.

"Don't just stare at a girl from across the bar, Sam. Say something."

Sam chuckled.

"We gonna talk about happened back there?"

Dean sucked his teeth and started painting another sigil on the window. The amber light from the street lamp made him look tanner than he was. "Just got a little jumpy, is all."

"Is it?"

He didn't answer for several minutes.

"It was the hounds," he said finally. "I…I could hear 'em when we were in the tunnel."

"You think they were in there the whole time?"

He shook his head, shivering slightly. "Hell if I know. But it reminded me…"

He trailed off.

Sam waited, giving him time to get his thoughts together.

"Benny and me, we used to run from the things nonstop. They caught my scent around Foster's Gorge, and we didn't lose 'em for months."

"In Purgatory? There were hellhounds?"

He shrugged. "They bite the dust, too, same as the rest of us."

Sam swallowed. Dean hadn't said much about his time down there, so he knew it had to be terrible. He bit his lip, wishing he'd been faster at opening the portal and getting the news to Dean.

_Might have gotten to him before he took up with a vamp, _he thought bitterly. He knew his feelings about Benny were unreasonable, but there they were. No use pretending to himself that he loved the guy. And he had little room to talk, as far as shacking up with monsters went.

"We had a hard time getting food for a while," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Every time we'd hunt for …something to eat, the pack would fall in on us. It was rough going. Eventually, Benny figured out how to steal their kills after the main hunters had taken something down."

He tripped over the last few words, and Sam decided it was best not to ask what food they'd subsisted on down there.

"Dean…did you have some kind of flashback?"

"No."

He carefully dipped his brush back into the paint.

"Maybe."

The conversation lapsed again.

It wasn't exactly uncharted territory for Sam; he'd spent a year with Lucifer nagging him everywhere he went. But Dean had known what to do, exactly how to help him, and Sam…well, he'd never been so good at taking care of people, had he?

"You wanna talk about it?"

Dean paused and looked at him for a long moment. His expression was unreadable – unusual for Dean – and Sam couldn't begin to tell what he was thinking.

"Nah," he said, taking a deep breath and looking away. "Let's…let's just sit here for a while."

So they did.

* * *

Dean rubbed his eyes and set his elbows on the kitchen table, yawning. He and Sam had eventually fallen asleep in front of the windows, but at least he'd finished the demon warding before they knocked out. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd had any peace and fucking quiet, and even longer since he hand Sam had done anything together outside of hunting. To his surprise, Sam hadn't pestered him to spill his guts about Purgatory, and the silence had been nice while it lasted.

He felt better.

Nikki had woken them the next morning and told them she'd have to go back to work in a week or two, and did they think Crowley would be pissed that she'd shot him, since he was okay and everything? Sam and him had exchanged knowing glances, and the moment had felt so much like the old days he half expected Meg or Yellow Eyes to pop around a corner.

Now, they were sitting at the table, neck deep in paperwork.

"What else can seals do, though?" Nikki asked. She was wearing a very ratty Tennessee State t-shirt and sweatpants. She looked about fifteen. "I mean, do they only open this hell cage or whatever?"

Dean had to smile. "That 'hell cage or whatever' is holding the devil underground," he said. "And we've got the only other key to that hot box, so seals are his only option if he wants to get in there."

"You have the _keys_ to the cage?"

Dean tsk-tsked and smirked. "And here I thought you were a scholar."

Her mouth hung open and she shook her head. "God must really trust you two."

"Something like that." Dean shrugged, grinning. "But yeah, as far as we know, that's all seals are good for."

Sam closed Nikki's seal book, putting it off to the side. "Well, there's got to be more to it, because there's no way Crowley wants to cut Lucifer loose. He wasn't exactly a loyalist."

"Then what? Because there's no other reason to bust that thing open, Sam."

"Wait, didn't Crowley say that he'd broken 'the final seal' while we were down there?"

"I dunno, I was kind of out of it, remember?"

"I'm pretty sure he did. Which means that whatever he's doing is almost done."

"I guess, but-"

"Is there anything else in the cage?"

They both turned to look at her, surprised.

"Seriously," she said. "If it's made to hold the devil, who knows what else people may have thrown in there over the years. There could be a lot of powerful stuff hidden in that box."

"I hadn't thought about that," Sam said. "But I guess it's possible. I mean, it would explain why he's so desperate to get in there."

"Must be some heavy machinery if he gonna risk going in for it."

"He wouldn't do that unless he had no other choice," Sam continued. "Whatever it is, it's gonna put a hitch in our mission, for sure. He knows what we're after, and I wouldn't put anything past him."

"Think there'll be lore on it?"

"Well, Gabriel gave us the keys, so if there is anything written, Metatron would know it."

"Gabriel? As in, the _archangel _Gabriel?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. He was a bit of a dick in the beginning, but he did us a major solid in the end."

"That's it," she said, getting up from the table. "I'm gonna go take a shower before you tell me Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are your godparents."

"Don't slip!" Dean called after her.

"You're not gonna go join her?"

Dean feigned innocence. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you two at the bar the other night. And you sure didn't sleep on the couch the first night we were here."

Dean's smile slipped a bit. "Yeah, well, I'm a professional. I am capable of keeping it in my pants if I want to."

"Right," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Think it's time to pay the holy court reporter a visit?"

"Yeah. After we grab a demon and cure the thing. Whatever King Candy's up to isn't quite done yet, else he wouldn't have told us to fuck off. We should finish this thing, and then it won't matter at all, cause they'll all be on lockdown." He bent down to tie his shoe. "Then maybe we can go on a good old fashioned salt and burn for a change."

Sam nodded. He couldn't argue with that – closing the gates would solve all their problems.

Wouldn't it?

There had been a few hiccups, and it had taken much longer than they'd wanted, but the plan was on track. They'd knocked out the first two trials, easy as pie, and the third seemed fairly simple – find a priest, confess, then cure the demon. All they had to do was get back to Kansas and the bunker – a four hour drive, tops – and Amelia had given them a two week deadline. Everything seemed to be going their way for once.

Which made Sam uneasy.

But what other option was there?

"Man, I'm hungry," Dean said. "Let's grab a bite after she gets out of the shower. There's no food left in this house."

* * *

Dean made a beeline for the cold cuts aisle.

"Where's the fire, Dean?" Nikki trotted to catch up with him, Sam close behind her.

"You're the one who wouldn't let us go to McDonalds," he said, picking over the bacon. "I'm starving."

She grabbed some shredded cheddar and looked askance at him. "You'll live, you baby. And once you've tasted this breakfast you'll be glad you waited."

"I better be," he said, picking up a carton of eggs from the fridge at the end of the aisle. "This is gonna take at least an hour."

"I'll go get the pancake mix," Sam announced before taking off.

"Get vegetable oil, too! I'm out!"

"What brand?" Sam called from the next aisle over.

"Doesn't matter."

Dean went back and got a tube of Jimmy Dean sausage, balancing it in the crook of his elbow.

She laughed. "Sure you got enough meat there, greedy?"

"You wanna take some of the meat?" he muttered, his shoulder brushing hers.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "And I heard you were such a Casanova. I hope you can do better than _that_."

"You'll find out soon enough."

Sam joined them at the self-check-out, carrying a container of strawberries along with the Bisquick and oil. There was no line, and they were on their way to Nikki's car in no time.

"Not sure all this is gonna fit in this tiny thing," Dean said, looking disdainfully at it.

"Not all of us want to drive segregation-era gas guzzlers," she said, unlocking the doors.

Sam laughed and Dean glared at her.

"My baby had nothing to do with that," he said. "She's from Janesville, Wisconsin. _Lincoln_ slept there."

She grinned at Dean as he crouched into the front seat. She tucked one of her curls behind her ear and laughed.

"And how do _you _know that?"

"Me and baby go way back," he said. "Way, way back."

Crowley appeared outside her window.

Things seemed to move in slow motion.

She was still laughing, and she said something more, but Dean didn't hear. Crowley waved his wrist, once, twice, three times, but nothing happened, and Dean thanked himself for remembering the ward the car.

He and Crowley locked eyes, and a terrifying smirk appeared on the demon's face.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun.

Nikki had noticed the look on his face and was turning to look behind her.

Dean saw that he was holding a police issue Glock, and he had a moment to wonder where Crowley got it before he opened fire.

Glass exploded inward at them.

Nikki screamed and then suddenly stopped, and Dean could barely concentrate over the noise of the gun –

– the screaming outside –

– Sam banging against the back door because the child lock was on it and he couldn't move –

– Sam crying out as he was struck and Dean felt a bullet whiz past his arm –

– a second one grazed his shoulder –

– Nikki's head bounced against the steering wheel as the bullets kept coming –

– and then it ended, as abruptly as it had begun.

There was silence now, as everyone had moved away from the car, and Crowley stood outside the window, eyes still locked on Dean. He tossed the gun aside.

"It's been a pleasure working with you," he said coldly. All of his usual mirth was gone, and for the first time, Dean was really seeing the monster who had taken over hell in Lucifer's wake. "But I'm afraid our love-hate relationship has passed it expiration date."

He straightened the collar of his coat.

"Party's over, boys."

He vanished.

Nikki's body sagged against the steering wheel.

* * *

**Sorry for the length of these chapters! It's taking a lot of words to say what I want to say. **


	9. About Last Night

**WARNING: Language. R & R!  
**

* * *

He hit the gas and moved into the passing lane, zooming past an eighteen-wheeler with a choky roar of the engine. It was a bad sound, and ordinarily he would have stopped to check under the hood, but he had somewhere to be. He'd been held up for nearly two hours because of construction along I-24 and forced to stop in both Carbondale and Chattanooga; if he didn't hurry, he might miss their appointment. And he wasn't gonna let that son of a bitch get away this time.

He'd barely escaped the crime scene before the alphabet boys had arrived. The time between what happened in the car and arriving at Nikki's house was a rage-filled blur – hell, he didn't even remember how he'd gotten out of the car – and Dean didn't particularly care to examine it. It was ugly and twisted and full of hot emotions that would consume him if he didn't keep his head, and he couldn't afford to break right now. Most of his mind was a jumbled mess, but there was one thing he was sure of: it was time for Crowley to bite the dust. That fucker had gone one stop too far, and Dean was gonna bleed him dry.

He swore, slamming on the brakes as another tractor-trailer came up the ramp. He didn't have time to pass and would have to let it merge.

_Fuck_.

He got back up to speed as soon as he could, determined to make it before Crowley took off. He swore again and slammed his hands against the wheel, furious that he'd been held up so badly.

But he hadn't exactly let the time go to waste. He'd made some important calls, after all.

He glanced in the rearview.

The crossroads demon moaned once under the blanket Dean had covered her with; she was laid out across the back seat with a bullet in her brain. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of the blood from the rest of her many wounds leaking onto Baby's seats, but life was all about sacrifice, wasn't it?

She'd been a tough nut to crack; she must have been mighty close to – or mighty afraid of – Crowley to keep her mouth shut while Dean went at her. He even admired her a little; he'd apprenticed under Alistair and he knew it wasn't easy to hold up against his techniques. She'd finally told him where Crowley's favorite crypt was after he'd pulled her toenails and dipped her feet in holy water, and they were racing toward it now. His Majesty didn't think they'd track his ass down after he'd proven he was willing to go John Wayne on them, but he had another thing coming.

As Kennesaw, Georgia blew past, he could feel the telltale climbing of his heart rate. _Cool it, _he admonished himself, rolling his neck. _You can't afford to lose it now. Get it together. _

The lack of sleep wasn't helping things, but every time he closed his eyes, he was right back in that car, watching Nikki's body writhe like a bait worm as Crowley emptied a clip into her, feeling the hot slugs graze his skin again, listening to Sam's agonized cry as he was struck – more than once, Dean was sure – and then his terrifying silence…

_Stop it. _

Sam –

_Deal with the problem in your face._

He shut his eyes briefly, trying to steady himself. He'd had to do it often in Purgatory, especially in the early days of looking for Cas and wandering alone in the woods from hell. He was certain that he'd lost his mind for a short while, because he couldn't remember what happened for weeks at a stretch.

Then he'd met Benny, and things had gotten a lot better.

More bearable.

Focused.

And that was what he had to do now.

_Focus. _

He would deal with…the rest of it.

Eventually.

"Don't do this, Dean. You don't want –" The words fell apart into a jumbled mass of wet coughs.

"Shut up, bitch."

He changed lanes again.

"He knows," she wheezed. He could feel her moving, but he wasn't worried. The slug in her head would keep her in her place. "He knows you'll –"

"I said shut up!"

Even he could hear the hysteria in his voice, but he really didn't give a shit. He looked over his shoulder at her, biting his lip.

"Sam," she said. "You should really call him." She coughed some more. "You need to clo –"

He chuckled.

_Un-fucking-believable. _

"Don't tell me what to do." He shook his head as exhaustion threatened to close his eyes. "I know what the hell I'm doing."

* * *

He was cold.

It was one of Sam's least favorite feelings, next to gas pains and calf cramps. Low temperatures were never a sign of anything good – he'd either gotten caught somewhere cold without a coat or there was a ghost his immediate vicinity. The last time his hands had felt like this, he'd awoken in an ice bath, staring up at Dean and kind of wishing the fever had killed him. The memory of that night was ephemeral and kept slipping away from him, but when he got the chance he was going to break one off in his brother's ass for that stunt. He could have gone into shock.

And where was Dean, anyway?

Where was _he_?

There were sounds around him, but it was like he was underwater. Light was beginning to creep under his lids, and fuck, was it bright. It felt like there was a concrete pillar between his head and his navel, and try as he might, he couldn't move a muscle.

His eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, however, and he saw someone moving to and fro. He squinted, trying to get a clearer picture, and…

_Amelia_?

She noticed that he was awake and raced over, shaking him by the shoulders. He was immediately dizzy and he tried to reach up and block her, surprised to find that his arms worked.

"God, this stuff takes forever to wear off," she said, squeezing an IV bag. He rolled his head and took another look around. He was on the sofa in Nikki's living room. There was a lamp near his head with the shade off.

_What the hell…_

"Help me out and wake up," she said, shaking him again. He was less dizzy this time, and his muscles were beginning to do what he told them.

He shook his head, and tried to sit up. "What…"

"Somebody blew you to hell and back in front of a market," she said, squeezing the bag again.

"How...what are you doing here?"

"I was with Kaja when she fucking vanished. Figured someone summoned her, probably you, so I called. You didn't answer, even though your phone was on. Had a bad feeling, so I tracked you with it, and viola, there you were, bleeding out in the back of an ambulance."

His mind was clearing. He looked down at his body and saw six small scars on his torso, four on his chest and two on his lower abdomen. There was an IV in his arm, and the liquid it was feeding him was dark and thick.

_She came prepared, _he thought gratefully. _Ever the soldier. _

His hips were covered by a comforter he recognized as belonging to Nikki; it had been on her bed when Dean was out of commission. Sam was pretty certain that she was dead now.

Did that mean _Dean_ was…?

"The girl's dead and your brother's AWOL," Amelia said, seeing the look on his face. "Any idea where he might have gone?"

The car.

The rain of fire.

The pain.

"Crowley."

"What about him?"

"He's the one who shot at us…"

And now Dean was going after him.

Alone.

She stopped fussing with him. "With factory bullets?"

God, the room was freezing. _I'm naked, _he realized. As if he'd said it aloud, she tossed him his bloody clothes. He struggled to put them on.

_Damn it. _

He should have left overnight bag in the house instead of in the Impala.

"Yeah, I guess…"

"That's original. Explains why Dean blew a gasket and flew the coop."

He examined the bloody bullet holes in his shirt, marveling at the fact that he was alive. Six center mass was nothing to shake a stick at.

He buttoned the shirt. "What is _in _that stuff?"

"You know what's in it." She checked her phone. "Can't keep using that, by the way. There's only so much black blood you can suck down before bad things start to happen."

"Bad things are already happening," he said. He was nearly back to normal now; the batch she'd given him must have been pretty powerful.

"Worse things."

"We've got two weeks to stop purgatory and hell from gate-crashing the planet," he said. "I'll chance it."

"Think you can stand?"

He could.

As the two of them made their way to the kitchen table, he was surprised to see that darkness had fallen.

"How long have I been down?"

"Nine hours.

"_What_?"

"I had to wait for them to remove the foreign objects. I wasn't sure it would work with half a dozen bullets lodged in you."

"You dragged me out of the hospital?"

She grinned. "The _operating room_. Where do you think I got the bag and the sharps?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "They just let you walk out with a patient? A _naked_ patient?"

"They were distracted."

"By?"

"What is this, _Jeopardy_? We've got to figure out where your better half went."

The table was still strewn with their research from the previous day, but now everything was in a scrambled pile. Much of it was covered in blood.

"It's not his," she said before he could ask. "Wrong smell. It's Kaja's."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Come see the basement."

* * *

The Salesman was finally finished with her.

He had disappeared somewhere up the narrow stairs Abaddon knew were there, but could no longer see. She could hear him muttering to someone – probably that lickspittle, Bale – but not what he was saying.

_Probably looking for a cane. _

She had scarcely believed it when he had appeared before her looking as though he'd spent a decade pushing a rock uphill and _limping_, of all things. Her vantage point was a bit skewed, true, but if she wasn't mistaken, the problem wasn't in his leg, but somewhere else. If her mouth hadn't been stuffed with a rag dipped in holy oil, she'd have asked him if he'd suffered a stroke.

As it was, she had merely watched him as he cast spell after spell, trying to repair himself. He'd been only marginally successful; the worst of the limp and the trembling were gone, but he was damaged, probably for good. He been cursing someone under his breath the entire time, and though she hadn't been able to make out his words, it wasn't exactly a mystery.

There were only a few ways to damage a demon as powerful as her or Crowley, and most of them were known by the Winchesters.

She couldn't say she wasn't glad they'd taken a belt to him, but she would have to be more careful going forward if she was to meet her goals. Challenging them face to face wasn't a task to be undertaken without _much_ planning, she knew now, and she had no intentions of doing so until things were finally ready. She couldn't afford to make any more mistakes.

She was being given an opportunity to serve her master and repay him for all he had done for her.

The world had to be set right.

_Lucifer had to be freed. _

And if she had anything to do with it, he would be.

She smiled around the rag.

* * *

"Prepare yourself," she warned. "It's ugly."

The smell hit him before the sight did.

The floor of the basement was dark, but the blood was visible anyway. The pool covered the floor so thoroughly that he couldn't see the devil's trap anymore, but Sam had no doubt that it was still there. There were splashes of blood on the lower shelves of the book cases, the legs of the small table, and the bottom two steps.

He skipped those, doing his best to avoid the blood as he walked around the table to the other side. There were the leftovers from a summoning spell – the same one they had used to summon Kaja a few days before – and a set of sharp utensils whose function Sam wasn't entirely sure of but could imagine if he tried. He picked up what looked like some kind of gouging tool and examined it; it was encrusted with flesh and he dropped it onto the tabletop.

"You didn't tell me Dean trained at Gitmo," Amelia said, tasting some of the blood in the bowl.

Sam shook his head, a sense of dread settling in his midsection. _This is bad. _He took another glance at the tools on the table. _He hasn't used any of these since…since Alistair. _

"He's not himself."

"I hope not. I wouldn't sleep with this guy anywhere near me, brother or not."

"Ever since he got back from Purgatory, he's been different. Not sleeping so well, angry a lot. He sort of blacked out the night we tried to save the seal…"

"Lovely," she said. "Most lethal hunter on the face of the planet, and his cheese is sliding off his cracker."

"He'll be fine," Sam snapped. "We'll get through it. We always get through it."

She held her hands up in surrender. "Didn't mean to poke your sore spot, okay? I was just saying."

He closed his eyes and leaned on the edge of the table. "I know, I know, it's just…he always ends up on the racks because of me, and –"

She rolled her eyes. "Purgatory was not one of your screw ups. He used a god weapon to send Dick packing. That's just how those things work. Trust me, I would know."

"I know, but – "

"Sam," she said patiently, "as much fun as I'm having at this pity party, your brother has Kaja and one hell of a set of enhanced interrogation techniques. If we don't get to them soon, she'll start talking about our little date with Death. Maybe even the portal. I don't know about you, but I for one don't want to waltz with your brother when he's in this state of mind."

_Right, _he thought. They were keeping so many secrets, he was beginning to lose track.

_Please let Crowley be pounding ancient scotch in a rundown castle in England right now, _he thought. _We need time to find Dean…_

"Okay, you're right." He took a deep breath, running through the facts in his mind. "Crowley bagged the seal the last time we saw him, and set his dogs on us to boot. Nikki shot him with one of the trap bullets, but he still managed to get away."

"And he came back to carry out a hit in person? Why?"

"Don't think he was too happy about catching a bullet, lethal or not."

She was doubtful; Sam could tell just from the way she was standing.

"He went Godfather on you in public just for that? It's hardly the first time you've tangoed with him."

"Got any other explanation?"

"How'd you find this hideout of his, again?"

"Demon attack at a pool hall. Nikki beat it out of him."

"Just one demon?"

"No," he said, thinking about it for the first time. "Dean said he was chasing one when the other blindsided him."

"And the other one, what? Just left without trying to stop you from getting the keys to the kingdom?"

_Well when you put it like that…_

"Yeah."

She shook her head. "Sam…"

"I was distracted," he said, pressing his fingers to his eyes again; the potion was useful, but he was probably going to need Amelia to drive him to wherever Dean was. Extreme drowsiness was all but guaranteed with the amount he'd taken. "Dean was hurt."

"Never follow the bright orange lure, babe," she said. "Won't end well."

He chuckled darkly. "Don't I know it."

"I'm beginning to see why demons like humans so much," she said. "Easily manipulated."

"You're not gonna start bitching about humanity again, are you? Cause I left my tiny violin in Kansas."

"Just sayin' I don't really get why god would throw us into some dead zone to make way for you guys. Doesn't seem like a savvy bargain."

"You can ask him yourself if he ever decides to show his face again."

"Fair enough." She crossed her arms. "So…Dean went after His Royal Highness – solo – to tag him back for killing this girl?"

"She was one of our old saves," Sam corrected her. "And a hunter. She's the one who told us the random killings we were seeing were seals. Crowley was after her before we even met up."

"This must be her house, then, huh?" She looked around appreciatively. "Pretty well stocked."

He nodded. They would have to load up before they shipped out.

"So the Clint Eastwood movie in the parking lot – that was just to piss Dean off," she said. "And distract you both from what you _should_ be doing. Which is closing the gates."

"We had to stop, Mellie. He was killing all the people – "

" – you saved, I know." She was exasperated with him, the way she always got when she thought he was being too sentimental. "But I have some bad news for you. He's gonna keep throwing bullshit your way until he can come up with some way to stop you from completing the trials. He'll bust that cage, and the portal to Purgatory will split like a busted seam. Earth will be evil's for the taking."

He sighed. He knew she was right, at least on the surface. It sounded simple, and for the most part, it _had_ been fairly easy to get the trials done. They couldn't let Crowley stall them until they blew it in the eleventh hour.

"Earth to Sam," she said, snapping her fingers in front of him. "Something you want to share?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. He didn't know how to describe the feeling he had in the back of his mind. "I guess not."

"Well, then, let's get ready to go. I can follow the scent of Kaja's blood to find your brother, but they've probably already arrived at their destination, whatever it may be. Load up some supplies in the car I stole before it's reported to the cops. I'm gonna go grab a different license plate."

She disappeared up the stairs.

He looked around the empty basement. The single bulb in the ceiling was still flickering, and there was a large spider in one corner, settled in its web. The small rug in front of the dirty utility sink in the corner was crooked and soaked through, and the front of the mini-fridge beside it was covered in plastic magnets. Some of them held old pictures, but most didn't, and one of them had fluttered to the floor and was floating in a puddle of blood. It was Nikki, at prom or homecoming or something. He picked it up and wiped the back on his pants, folding it and sticking it into his pocket.

_So this is it, _he thought. _This is everything her life was. _

A tiny house, a hunter's basement, and some old pictures weren't much, but it was more than either he or Dean could claim.

What would be left after they were gone?

* * *

The Red Queen's entrails were really beginning to stink, and not in the way he liked.

She'd finally shut her gob twelve hours after her head and shoulders had gone through a rather nasty divorce. He'd wanted to keep her around – she made a hell of an encyclopedia – but it had become clear that he'd gotten all the blood he was going to from that particular turnip. She'd turned to stone, not responding to any of his many creative attempts at communication.

_To hell with her. _

He had what he needed.

Bugger the rest.

He gun trembled in his hand until he was forced to set it down on a shelf. Red rage clouded his vision and he fought to get it back under wraps – if he was going to pull off this task, he'd need a steady hand. The bullet the cunt had fired at him was no ordinary slug, and she'd struck something in him and did real damage. He could still breathe and wiggle his toes, so it wasn't one of the bullets from Samuel Colt's piece, but the little twat had rigged up something nasty, indeed.

_Kids today. No respect for their elders. _

But he'd taught her a lesson.

He thought she'd absorbed it rather well, all things considered.

After dear Sam had recovered from his impromptu ventilation, the two musketeers would hold off on closing the brimstone gates and would be along to avenge her, and he'd have a window of time in which to get what he needed from the cage. And once that was done, Smith and Wesson would have their hands full, until…

Well.

His hand stopped its shaking and he smiled, reaching for the gun again –

A soft cry echoed through the crypt.

It wasn't dear Abby – she wasn't the type to wail in pain, and her mouth was otherwise occupied at the moment – but it _was_ a demon.

He had warned the kingdom not to bother him at this location. All important messages were to be relayed to Bale.

The demon moaned again and there was a dragging sound. He looked at the wall to his right, where the sound seemed to be coming from.

_The bloody hell is going on now?_

He didn't sense anyone else in the house – she was alone. She had to know the danger in seeking him out; she would not do so without good cause.

He bit the bullet and started down the hall. _Better be damn good, _he thought. He'd probably have to kill her either way – he didn't need word of his injury getting out – but she might have information he needed. She's been injured _somehow_, after all.

He arrived in the living room, his coat billowing out behind him as he rounded the corner. She – Kaja, recently promoted to the crossroads if he wasn't mistaken, a real talent – was in a heap on the floor. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, and if the red trail from the door was any indication, she had slithered in from the street.

_Don't see that every day. _

"What's all this?"

She didn't reply; she simply moaned again. Blood poured from her mouth.

He sighed in exasperation and knelt beside her, snatching her head by the hair and turning her face up to his.

"Speak now, dearie," he said. "Or forever hold your pea-"

She coughed and a blob of blood splattered him in the face. He wiped it away with his other hand.

Her tongue was gone.

A shiver went up his spine.

"Who did this?" He shook her, and her eyes rolled into her head. She lost consciousness. "Kaja!"

"Is _that_ her name?"

He dropped her and whirled in one move.

_How does this keep happening to me?_

The elder Winchester stood in the doorway to the kitchen, grinning at him like a forty-year-old virgin at a brothel and twirling that damn knife.

"Didn't hear you come in," Crowley said, cursing himself for not bringing the gun with him. He didn't dare move; South Beach Ken didn't know about his bum back and it was best that things stayed that way.

"Kaja there knows quite a few tricks." Dean pressed the tip of the knife to his lips. "Streetwalkers like her have to get around quick and quiet, I imagine." He pulled a hex bag from his pocket.

_Of course. _

Crowley looked down at Kaja.

Her fingers were still twitching.

He flicked his wrist.

They stopped.

"Back to your old self, I see." He gave Dean his most gracious smile. "The tongue was a nice touch – did Al teach you that one, or is that one of yours?"

To his relief, Dean flinched at that.

_A way in. _

"So Jonesboro, huh?" Dean stepped toward him; he held his ground.

"Less crowded than Atlanta," he said. "Can't stand lines at the bank."

There was no way Dean had come alone.

"Good schools?"

Someone was here.

"The very best."

He had to get out the door; he'd locked down the house to keep Abaddon from doing a runner…

"So where's Mary Kate?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling around.

His fingers closed around the blade.

"Don't you worry about him just now." Dean was swaying on his feet, Crowley was relieved to see. "Let's talk about what you've been doing with these seals."

He clicked his teeth. "No can do. G-13 classified. Terribly sorry."

_Come on, where are you? _

"You can't be thinking of letting out the Light Bringer." Dean continued, ignoring him. "So there's something else in there you want. And you're gonna tell me what it is, you smarmy little disco stick."

"Am I?"

"Yeah," a voice said from behind him. "You sure are."

Something large and sharp was digging into his back.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said. "I don't believe we've met."

"Never had the pleasure," it drawled, "But from what Dean tells me, you're quite the character."

A vampire?

_The plot thickens. _

"Haven't had much screen time lately," Crowley said, "but I've carried the plot in seasons past."

Benny laughed at that.

"Got a new boyfriend, have you, Dean?" He tried to inch away, but it dug the blade in deeper. _So we'll have to do this the hard way. _"Packing quite a bit more than your angel, too."

"I'm gonna ask you one last time," Dean's words carried a barely-perceptible slur, and Crowley noted his bloodshot eyes. _He's circling the drain. _"What the hell are you-"

_It's now or never._

Crowley thrust the archangel's blade through the back of his coat and into the vampire. It cried out, and he felt its grip on the enormous blade loosen. He dropped to the floor, rolling away from the thing before it went down. He struggled to his feet and was halfway to the door when –

* * *

– Dean tackled him to the moth eaten carpet, rolling with him as Crowley tried to wrest away. Pinning the demon's shoulder with his elbow, Dean raised the knife and plunged it down, missing Crowley and hitting the concrete under the carpet. Crowley kneed him in the groin and elbowed him in the face, throwing him off. His back hit the brick mantle of the fireplace and his head struck the wall.

He rolled onto his chest and was hallway to his feet when the demon tore open the front door and disappeared.

Dean roared and threw the knife at the wall in front of him.

_Mother fuck!_

He rubbed his face where Crowley had tagged him. His hand came away bloody, and he climbed the rest of the way to his feet, dizzy with exhaustion. _Or maybe a damn concussion –_

Benny groaned.

Dean stumbled over to where he was, dropping to his knees. Benny was on his back, holding his abdomen. Dean tore his shirt to see how bad it was, relieved when he noticed that it was already healing – the wound was shallow and mostly skin deep.

"You're good," Dean assured him, clapping him on the knee. "He didn't get you."

Air left Benny's lungs in a rush. "Thought you said he didn't have any monster weapons?"

"I didn't think he did."

"What did he stick me with?"

Dean examined the edges of the wound, noting the odd shape. The odd, yet very familiar shape…

"God damn it."

"What?"

"It was an archangel's blade."

"Where did he get that?"

"Fuck if I know. He's Crowley. Probably sacrificed a hundred baby hedgehogs for it."

"You know," Benny said, sitting up, "I'm startin' to think I was better off in Purgatory."

Dean chuckled. "You might be right."

Benny gestured at Kaja. "This the demon who told you about this place?"

"After I cut her spleen out, yeah."

Benny had a strange look on his face as he knelt over her body, examining her.

"What?"

"I think I know her."

_You and everyone else, _Dean thought. _This bitch really got around._

"You spend a lot of time at crossroads back during your human days?"

"Naw," he said, looking back at Dean. "I met her in Purgatory."

"_What_?"

"I think you heard me," he said. "She's the one told me a human was hiding out nearby. Hell, it's how I found out about the door."

* * *

Dean descended the narrow staircase into the crypt.

They'd cleared the house in a matter of minutes, and nothing had come up from the basement to defend The Crown, even with all the noise they'd made. Benny had taken Kaja's body outside to bury; they'd look up her vessel's identity later with the prints Benny had taken. Dean was prepared to leave it be – they'd never bothered with notifications in the past – but Benny looked at him like he'd grown a second head when he suggested just leaving her in the grass somewhere. He'd started lecturing Dean about honoring the dead and Dean had taken the opportunity to excuse himself, saying he needed to check out the basement for anything that might tell them what the King was planning.

He pinched his nose as he arrived at the landing; something had been dead down here for a while.

_Guess he's not too persnickety about housework. _

There was a short stone hall, and as he headed into the lighted room at the other end, he wracked his addled brain for an explanation.

What was a crossroads demon doing in Purgatory spreading rumors? Who had sent her?

Sam?

Just thinking the name made his headache worse. He was pretty sure Sam was alive, but he wasn't looking forward to explaining why he'd bailed. He could barely explain it to himself. But something was going on…

_He knows her from somewhere. _

Had Sam sent her in there to get him?

But he'd told Dean he'd taken the year off to discover the meaning of life, or whatever the fuck he was doing. If he'd sent a demon to rescue Dean, why in god's name would he lie about it?

_Gotta be another explanation. _

He would find it later, after he got some sleep and some ibuprofen. He could barely see straight.

He stepped into the room.

The smell was a thousand times worse and he covered his mouth with his other hand, breathing through his fingers. Unlike the crypt in St. Louis, this one was solid stone. Its construction must have been a marvel of engineering at the time it was built – Dean couldn't begin to fathom how anyone had built an underground granite room, magic or no magic. The shelves in this room, however, were fully stocked with all manner of evil stew ingredients, and there was a devil's trap in the middle of the floor.

_The _devil's trap.

The one the angels had imprisoned Alistair in.

And it wasn't empty.

At least, not completely.

Hands and feet were still held in place by the shackles at the appropriate points on the star. An armless and legless torso lay at the base of the trap, drowning in blood. Intestines were lopped around the intersections of the lines of the iron pentagon, and the smell got worse the closer her got to the trap.

"Jesus," he said aloud.

"Not quite."

His knife was drawn before he was done hearing the words, but when he caught sight of their source, he relaxed.

Abaddon's head was resting on a table in a wooden box. A rag rested right in front of her mouth; from the smell of it, it was soaked in holy oil. Though part of her was outside the devil's trap, it was clear that she was still unable to leave – her rotting body was all the evidence he needed of that. He scanned the room for any other guests, but they were alone. He strode over to her.

"Headless again, huh? You must be reeling from the déjà vu."

"Mr. Winchester," she said. It was amazing – she was still managing a seductive purr while her body parts were strewn about the room. These knights really were something special. "Long time no see."

"Not long enough." He poked the tip of her nose with the blade.

She glanced around. "Where is Sam?"

Dean didn't reply.

She lifted and eyebrow. "Can't find your tongue?"

Dean frowned. _No way she knows about that, _he assured himself. _She's just fucking with you. _

"Answer me. Don't be rude."

"I can be what I want. Crowley's got you trapped six ways from Saturday afternoon."

"True," she said with mock sadness. "I am a bit indisposed at the moment, aren't I? Still, that doesn't mean we can't chat for a bit."

He leaned over the box, grinning smugly. "Chat about that? The Red Sox?"

"Not much one for sports," she said. Her eyes locked onto his and he found himself admiring their dark depths. "But I'd love to hear a story."

God, he was tired.

"Sorry, hon," he said, yawning. "I'm pooped. Won't be telling you anything tonight."

"That's all right," she said. "You can just show me."

He was turning to leave, but he paused to look into her eyes again. They were beautiful. And what could it hurt? She was tied down good. She couldn't talk him to death.

"'Fraid I left the slideshow presentation at home," he said.

"No matter." Her voice was suddenly quite a bit deeper. She opened her mouth and a puff of black smoke escaped. He inhaled it before he could turn away.

"Go ahead, Dean," she said, her voice echoing in his mind. "Show me what you've seen."


	10. Show Me What You've Seen

– _the cabin – _

– _John – _

– _Yellow Eyes – _

"_You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."_

* * *

" _It's an honorable death. A warrior's death."_

"_I think I'll pass on the seventy two virgins, thanks. I'm not that into prude chicks anyway."_

"_That's funny. You're very cute." _

"_There's no such thing as an honorable death. My corpse is going to rot in the ground and my family is going to die! No. I'm not going with you, I don't care what you do."_

"_Well, like you said. There's always a choice. I can't make you come with me. But you're not getting back in your body. And that's just facts. So yes, you can stay. You'll stay here for years. Disembodied, scared, and over the decades it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent."_

* * *

"_Hey, look at me. It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, all right? Sammy? Sam! Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, okay? You're gonna be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take you care of you. I've got you. That's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? Sam! Sammy!" _

"_No. No, no, no, no. Oh, God." _

"_Sam!"_

* * *

"_I'm proud of you-knew you had it in you. Sit a spell. So, Dean...I got to thank you. You see, demons can't resurrect people unless a deal is made. I know, red tape-it'll make you nuts. But thanks to you, Sammy's back in rotation. Now, I wasn't counting on that, but I'm glad. I liked him better than Jake, anyhow. Tell me-have you ever heard the expression, "If a deal sounds too good to be true, it probably is?" _

"_You call that deal good?" _

"_Well, it's a better shake than your dad ever got. And you never wondered why? I'm surprised at you. I mean...you saw what your brother just did to Jake, right? That was pretty cold, wasn't it? How certain are you that what you brought back, is 100% pure Sam? You of all people should know, that's what's dead, should stay dead. Anyway...thanks a bunch. I knew I kept you alive for some reason. Until now, anyway. I couldn't have done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family."_

* * *

"_Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?"_

_"Son of a bitch!"_

_"My father was an obsessed bastard!"_

_"All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam. That was his crap! He's the one who couldn't protect his family! He's the one who let Mom die! Who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to hell!"_

* * *

"_Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?"_

* * *

_Hellhounds. _

_Lilith._

_Sam. _

"_No... no... Dean...Dean..."_

Darkness.

_Blood. _

_Pain._

_"HELP! NO! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"_

_"SAM!"_

* * *

"_Who are you?" _

"_I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." _

"_Yeah. Thanks for that." _

"_We need to talk, Dean. Alone."_

* * *

"_They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For thirty years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The - the things that I did to them." _

"_Dean... Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have." _

"_How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."_

* * *

"_Strippers, Sammy. We are on an actual case involving strippers. Finally."_

* * *

_Pamela. _

_Tessa._

"_Can I tell you something between you and me?" _

"_Who am I gonna tell?" _

"_After our little, uh, experience...for that whole year, I felt like I had this...hole in my gut...like I was missing something. I didn't know what. Do you know what it was?" _

"_It was you. The pain of losing my father and Sammy. I just...I wish I had gone with you for good. But I guess things are different now." _

"_What? The angels on your shoulder?" _

"_So, you know about that, huh? Well, hey, don't get me wrong. I mean, most the ones I've met are dicks with wings. But still... You know, I've done things. Horrible things. And someone upstairs still decided to give me a second chance. It just makes me feel...I don't know."_

* * *

"_You'll do everything you're destined to do. All of it. But I know, I know. You're not strong enough. You're scared. You got daddy issues. You can't do it. Right?" _

"_Angel or not, I will stab you in your face." _

"_All I'm saying is it's how you look at it. Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things. Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sakes, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours. So are you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?"_

* * *

_"Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me."_

_"No. You don't know what you're doing, Sam."_

_"Yes, I do."_

_"Then that's worse."_

_"Why? Look, I'm telling you—"_

_"Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means—"_

_"What? No. Say it."_

_"It means you're a monster."_

* * *

"_Sam, Dean. You're probably wondering what the hell is going on. Well, if you're watching this, I'm dead. Oh please! Stop sobbing, it's embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you've got zero shot at killing Lucifer, sorry! But you can trap him. The cage you sprung Lucifer from? It's still down there. And maybe, just maybe, you can shove his ass back in. _

"_Not that it'll be easy. You gotta get the cage open, trick my bro back into it. And uh, oh yeah, avoid Michael and the God Squad. But hey, details, right? And here's the big secret, Lucifer himself doesn't even know - the key to the cage? It's out there. Actually it's keys, plural. Four keys, well, four rings. From the Horsemen. You get 'em all, you got the cage. Can't say I'm betting on you boys. But, uh, hey! I've been wrong before. And Dean, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother, not any more. So this is me, standing up."_

* * *

"_Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you."_

* * *

"_A damn year?!"_

* * *

"_If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter…"_

* * *

"_Ever since I came back, I am a-a better hunter than I've ever been! Nothing scares me anymore! 'Cause I can't __feel__ it. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think... I need help."_

* * *

"_They were grabby, incandescent douchebags. Goodnight."_

* * *

"_You're just saying that because I won. Because you're afraid. You're not my family, Dean. I have no family." _

"_I'm glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel anymore. I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."_

* * *

"_Oh, this is going to be so much fun."_

* * *

"…_Bobby?"_

"_Idjit."_

* * *

"_See, here's the thing when dealing with Crowley – he will __always__ find a way to bone you."_

"_Did you really think you could trump __me?"__ Dick asked._

"_Honestly? No. Figured we'd have to catch you off guard."_

* * *

_The rougarou._

"_Nice to see you again."_

"_Please, I don't kno-"_

"_WHERE'S THE ANGEL?"_

* * *

_She had a blade to his throat and pinned his shoulder to the ground. Her vamp teeth were bared, and if he didn't find some way to escape…_

"_You never even gave me a chance! He drugged me at a party. I didn't ask to become this! All I wanted was to come down!"_

* * *

"_So you're looking for a soul train."_

* * *

_Leviathans…_

"_Go, Dean! Now!"_

* * *

"_We made it, brother."_

* * *

"_Was there a girl?"_

* * *

"...t_o close the gates of hell. Forever."_

* * *

"_Three trials…"_

* * *

"…_cure a demon…"_

* * *

"_The women at the dump? The family butcher? __Seals_."

* * *

_"What else can seals do, though?" Nikki asked. She was wearing a very ratty Tennessee State t-shirt and sweatpants. She looked about fifteen. "I mean, do they only open this hell cage or whatever?"_

_Dean had to smile. "That 'hell cage or whatever' is holding the devil underground," he said. "And we've got the only other key to that hot box, so seals are his only option if he wants to get in there."_

_"You have the __keys__ to the cage…"_

* * *

Dean awoke slowly.

There was something soft behind his head, and as he came to, he realized it was his jacket. He tried to lift his head but his vision swam and his stomach roiled, so he relaxed, breathing deeply and looking around.

It was dark.

There was light creeping in from under the door nearest him, and he could hear movement in that other room. Every thudding footstep echoed in his head like his skull was hollowed out, and he was tense, like he'd just gone cliff diving. His heart was pounding in his chest and beating far too fast considering he'd just been knocked out.

What the hell had happened to him?

_Lost a wrestling match with the King_, he remembered. _Gave Benny a once-over. Came downstairs to clear the basement, and –_

* * *

– _the cave was far less damp than they'd been expecting, for which Dean was grateful; the river had overrun its banks in a storm the week before and they'd been sleeping on wet ground for what felt like years. They hadn't had much cover the last few weeks, and although Dean insisted he was fine, both he and Benny knew better. The creatures were beginning to get to him, and not just physically; they had an unspoken agreement that they'd find a way to work in a little vacation._

_This cave – little more than an alcove, truth be told – was above the water line, and Dean tossed the weapons inside, gesturing to Benny, who was climbing up the hillside a few yards below him. _

"_Land ho!"_

_Benny was by his side in a few moments and the two of them climbed inside out of the rain. They rested their backs against the side wall, keeping their goods shoved to the back. _

_Even from this distance, they could still hear the beast crying, its high pitched voice carrying on the wind. Dean looked down at his lap, closing his eyes. _

"_Hey, now, brother," Benny said, nudging him with his elbow. "Stay with me." _

_Dean took a deep breath, doing what he could to block out the noise. They couldn't make out the words from this distance, but Dean knew what it was saying as it called to him in his father's voice, begged him for help. _

"_I got it," he said, offering Benny a half smile. _

"_It can't follow us up here," Benny said softly. "Them crocotta, they don't like heights. He'll move off soon. Count on that-"_

* * *

Suddenly he was back in the dark room with the hard floors, the top of a nail pressing into his back. He moved his shoulder to take the pressure off and sat up slowly. The room stayed level, and he turned back to the closed door. He recognized the footsteps now.

_Benny. _

He had no idea where they were, but he was sure they could rest; Benny had always had a knack for finding hiding places for them, and never once had they been blindsided in a foxhole. Dean tried to get to his feet, but the dizziness came back, so he sat where he was for a moment, thinking.

_That bitch knows everything now, _he thought bitterly. _The apocalypse, the cage, all of it. And now she knows that Sam's the one's gonna close the gates. If the kid's still alive. _He chuckled derisively, stretching his arms above his head. _See how easy this goes from here on out. We'll be lucky to get a demon to so much as send us a text message, let alone meet up for a face to face. _

Sam.

He wasn't dead.

He couldn't be.

But he was injured, and badly. In all probability, he was laid up in the hospital in a coma with no idea what the hell was going on. With the kind of shape he'd been in lately, it would be a miracle if he woke up before New Year's.

Dean brought his hand to his brow and rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache he knew was coming. They were sitting ducks for Crowley as long as Sam was injured; they'd have to rig something up to –

"Back in the land of the livin'?"

The door swung open, flooding the room with light. Dean squinted.

"Good to be back," he said, as Benny helped him slowly to his feet. The last of the dizziness wore off, and he followed Benny through the doorway and into a brightly lit kitchen. It was massive; there were five sinks, three long wooden tables, and four stoves. A large oven was built into the north wall; the door was missing, and it looked like it had been out of commission for a while.

"Where are we?"

"Restaurant," Benny said, grinning. "Used to be one of my favorites; closed down some years ago."

"One of your favorite restaurants was in Georgia?"

"This is N'awlins, brother."

Dean tried to think. "How the hell did we get here?"

"That car of yours," Benny said, leaning against one of the tables. "Your demon friend sent some more after us; I saw 'em comin' after I buried the girl. I went to get ya, but that woman down there, she…she had you in some kind of trance. There was black smoke all in your mouth and eyes. I just grabbed ya and ran."

"She was digging around in my custard for something," Dean said. "I don't know what she was looking for, but it ain't good, whatever it is."

"I thought you said you had some kind of protection from being possessed like that. You said Sam had one, too."

Dean shook his head. "Not from this bitch. She's a Knight of Hell, some kind of demon on 'roids. Lucifer himself made 'em back in the old testament days. She's been a pain in our asses since she got here. Now I guess she can read minds…" Dean stroked his temples again. "Just what we fucking need."

Benny looked away.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Don't do that."

"You're not too steady just yet. We shouldn't mess-"

Benny was giving him The Look, but Dean didn't care; he could rest when he was dead. "God damn it, what is it? She say something to you?"

"She was prob'ly just tauntin' us, man. She said something about some salesman, thinking he could make more of her – "

"Make _more _of her? As in make more knights?"

"Don't know. She just said to tell him she wasn't having it. That you'd pay for what you done, that the world would be set to rights, that kind of stuff. I don't remember all the details."

"That must be what Crowley wanted her for," Dean said to nobody in particular. He slammed his hand on the nearest table, wishing he had something to throw. "That's why he wants in the goddam cage."

"What?"

"Knights have to be made by Lucifer himself," Dean said. "Our brother is in that cage, Adam…who's probably already a demon by now. And Crowley wants him, to make another knight, one he can control."

"He's already the King, though, ain't he? What does he need one of these Knights for?"

Dean shook his head, looking around for his coat and shoes. "I don't know. But I have to get back to Sam."

"We barely made it out of that place alive," Benny insisted, grabbing Dean's arm. "We don't know what that thing did to you down there – "

"It doesn't matter. We got to put a stop to this."

"You been half out of your mind the whole way here!" Benny grabbed him by the shoulders and held him in place, staring right in his eyes. "I had to stop three, four times to calm you down. You were talking like we were still down in the Purg, like we never came back. And that's when you were awake."

The dream about the crocotta came suddenly back to him, but he pushed it away. "I'll get through it, Benny," he said, stepping around him. "But we gotta get this done. If Crowley gets his hands on his own personal knight, there's no telling what he'll use it for."

"You can't hide from it, man," Benny implored him, following him around the big room as he gathered his belongings. "I know that's what you do, all right? I know you. But it don't work forever, you hear? How much do you think you can shove down in that crazy mind of yours before you crack?"

"I cracked a long time ago," Dean said, headed for the door. He turned back, giving Benny what he hoped was a reassuring look. He held up his phone, which Benny had thankfully charged. "I'll call you."

* * *

Sam and Amelia stood in the middle of the small room.

"Well, this is the end of the trail," she said, raising her brows at the blood that soaked the carpets. "Guess we'll have to find a new friend on the other side."

"Well, don't get all broken up about it," he called, walking down the hall.

"Just following your lead, boss. I know us monsters are disposable."

Sam chuckled, the sound echoing through the house.

"Dane Cook back there with you?"

"Nah, it's just, you remind me of Dean."

"Uh oh."

He came back into the living room, sighing. The other room was clear, and they still had the basement to check, but he knew already – Dean wasn't here. Not anymore.

"First floor's clear. Want to tag-team the basement?"

She grinned. "Scared to go alone?"

He shrugged. "No telling who Crowley's got stashed to guard the place. If Dean was here…"

He expression sobered. "He was, Sam. I can smell him - must have cut his hand while he sliced and diced Kaja."

"Then where did he go? If Crowley has him…"

"I know you're worried," she said.

"Thanks for captioning my anguish," he snapped.

"He was probably furious with the demon for what he did to you and the girl," she said softly. "So he went after him. But you told me Dean's been like this before – and he never goes into a situation like this unprepared."

"If he wasn't thinking – "

"If those tearful sappy stories you forced me to listen to in bed last year were true, then he'd never get himself killed while you were alive, or bail on you. If he didn't quit on you after you started the apocalypse, he wouldn't give up on you now."

_Not that I deserve it, _he thought. He didn't reply, just stood there.

"Sam," she said. "Stop it. You know how ineffective you are when you're beating yourself up about things. Tell me what self-flagellating nonsense is going through your mind so I can dismiss it and we can find this asshole and finish this."

"Nothing, it's just…I know you're right. He wouldn't ditch me. He's loyal. He's brave. He's honest. He's…he's just better than me, better _to _me than I've ever been to him. And no matter how hard I try, it just feels like I always let him down, that I'm never the thing he wants me to be when he needs it. I'm always behind somehow, inadequate. And the worst part? It's not because he's unreasonable or demanding – he's right. He's a_lways_ been right about me."

She didn't answer him immediately.

"We are who we are, babe," she said quietly. "Let's say you're right, okay? Maybe you do fall short of some quota he set for you. In all the years you've been doing this, you've never reached it, right? You've never sacrificed as much for him as he has for you. You haven't done the things he's done; your reasons are less noble than his. So what?"

"You don't understand – "

"You right, I don't, because I'm not human, thank God. But I know what I am, Sam. I know _who _I am. And I accept it. And that's your problem – has been since the day I met you. You're always trying to be Dean, and you're surprised when it turns out you're not. You're selfish. You're not afraid to get dirty to get the job done – hell, you'll corrupt your own soul if you have to! You need a haircut. You fuck demons and monsters. You give us second chances. You eat salad. You're whiny. You can be manipulative when you want to; you even kind of like it. You get jealous."

He sighed. "Hell of a pep talk."

She touched his arm. "The point," he said, "is that that's _who you are._ Even after all that time you spent trying to be someone – anyone – else, you're still Sam Winchester. And you can't hide from him, all right? So you might as well accept himand find a way to make peace with being him, because if you don't…you'll find yourself dying one day, wishing you'd spent more time living and less time crying over all the milk you spilled while you were cooking for Saint Dean."

"When did you become Dr. Phil?"

"I've been alive for six thousand years, Sam," she said, starting down the basement stairs. "And if you think humans have issues, you should have seen _us_ before Dick came along."

* * *

Dean was stuck in traffic again.

_Goddam construction. How fucking long does it take to widen an interstate? They've been working on this since before Dad died. _

Sam's phone went straight to voice mail.

_Damn it. _

It was probably locked in some nurse's station somewhere, out of battery. He knew Sam was in no position to answer his phone anyway, but not being able to reach his brother made him anxious, regardless of the circumstances. Add that to the fact that he'd left his main cell in Nikki's car and was using one of the burners…

_And another one bites the dust. _

Most hunters never made forty, and Dean was plenty used to people he'd shared beers with dropping dead, but still, he knew this one would be with him for a while. Demons, vamps, werewolves – those were kills he could deal with. They were part of the job.

But what had happened to Nikki?

That was something else.

Something worse.

It was cold-blooded murder.

And it was more personal than anything Crowley had ever done to them. It wasn't magic. It wasn't hell. It was just lead and velocity and broken glass. Mundane.

Real life.

The one realm where he'd thought he still had a handle on things.

It was one thing to be overpowered by magic, but a Glock service weapon? If he couldn't defend people from that, what the hell did it all mean, anyway? What was the point of the devil's traps and the hex bags and angel's blades if the King of Hell could just stroll in with a Smith and Wesson and blow your brains out?

His phone rang, shattering the silence and send his heart straight into his throat.

_Maybe Benny's right, _he thought. _Maybe I am cracking up. _

The thought didn't cause as much distress as he thought it would.

He didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

"_Sam_?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Dean switched ears, incredulous. "What – are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, we're in Georgia at the house where you killed the demon. Where are you? We gotta talk."

"Who's _we_?"

"Me and you."

"No, you said '_we're_ in Georgia.' You and who? And how the hell are you okay? Crowley ventilated you."

"Look, it's a long story, all right, but I'm down here in this basement. Abaddon was here, and I think she got free of Crowley. There's no telling where she is now."

"You're gonna tell me what the hell's going on once we touch base, Sam. But about Abaddon? Yeah, I know she was there."

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Apart from damn near getting my head blown off at the goddam grocery store by the King of Hell? Yeah, I'm fucking great. She whammied me, read my mind or something, and now she knows everything."

"She knows about the gates, you mean?"

"The gates, the apocalypse, Yellow Eyes, you, _Busty Asian Beauties, _everything."

"_What_?"

"Yeah, and I'll do you one better. Crowley? I know why he wants in the cage."

"You do? How do you know that?"

"Look, it's a long story, all right?" He said mockingly.

"Dean…"

"He's trying to make a knight, Sam."

"I thought only Lucifer could make knights?"

"Luci's gotta torch the soul, yeah, you're right. But guess who's feet he's had plenty of time to hold to the fire?"

There was a moment of silence.

"_Adam_?"

"And Bingo was his name-o."

"So wait, does that mean that Adam's – "

"Already a demon? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say yeah, three hundred years in the cage ought to do it."

Sam sighed. "We really dropped the ball on him, didn't we?"

"And Bobby, and Nikki, and Jo, and Ellen, and Dad, but who's countin', right?"

"Dean…"

"Meet me back at the bunker."

"Should we go back to Nikki's tell her family what happened?"

"What for? What could we possibly say that would help at all?"

"Are you feeling okay, man?"

Dean chuckled. "Sure, Sam. You know me, I'm fine. Just get here. And leave your side chick in the dust. The demon bitch is dead, so I guess you were slutting it up all over town while I was gone."

"Don't – "

There was a loud boom.

The car jerked to the right and Dean dropped the phone.

He whipped his head around checking for the source of the commotion. The ground was still trembling softly, and people were getting out of their cars. Dean half expected to see war planes flying overhead and bombs dropping, because why the hell not?

He shoved his registration papers into the glove compartment, which had snapped open in the shockwave. The phone was on the floor, still connected, and he could hear Sam calling to him.

He picked it up.

"You feel that?"

"Of course." Someone female was cursing in the background. _Oh, Sammy, you poor stupid son of a bitch. _"What the hell _was_ that?"

* * *

Bale handed him the walking stick. It was a glossy sandalwood cane with a pointed tip and an emblem carved into the top. He had procured it at his master's request from a local shipping magnate who had recently died. It had been held in a glass case in City Hall; Bale had enjoyed destroying the display – and the rest of the building, like as not – to steal it, Crowley was sure. Down under, Bale had been a destroyer of dangerous objects, and the last thing Crowley wanted was for him to lose the taste.

There was much that would need destroying in the coming months, if all went well.

Crowley nodded at the emblem, a questioning look on his face.

"Your family crest, my lord," Bale said. "Thought it would be a nice touch."

He took the cane, examining it. It was stylish, and gave him a rather debonair look. He leaned on it, testing his weight. It held up, taking some of the pressure off his spine.

"Remind me never to sack you, Bale."

"Duly noted, sir."

They stood before a Devil's Gate, one of the oldest and largest in the world.

It was located in a great stone cavern deep in the Alps, and on the floor in front of them, a devil's trap was carved in front of the massive doors.

Bale handed him the holy oil.

He poured it into the top of the star point nearest him and watched it drain across the lines and arcs of the trap, until the whole thing glistened with the sheen of the liquid. Crowley extended his hand, lighting the oil on fire.

"Ought to do the trick," Crowley said.

"It's dangerous, this stuff," bale replied, taking the canister. "And not really necessary, even for a demon made by Lucifer."

"We're here for the Winchester," Crowley said, "but his cellmates might fancy a walk around the yard as well. Can't be too cautious."

Bale set the canister on a shelf on the other side of the hall and returned to his master's side.

Crowley held up his hands so that his palms faced the doors.

"Beh voh tah mo," he began, "en tah beh geh sah bah bah loh en, no me mah ah me espiritus no rah."

There was a great crack and the room began to shake. Stones began to fall from the ceiling and the moving ground brought Crowley to his knees, his cane clattering away from him.

"Now!" Crowley cried. "He's freed! Do it now!

"Kah hee deh rah," Bale said, "beh voh ta mo en."

The trembling stopped with an unnatural suddenness and Crowley climbed to his feet. He and Bale exchanged nervous glances, waiting.

There was a knock at the door.

It was more like a booming slam, and Crowley sighed in relief. If Father Hell had gotten loose, there'd be no polite knocking.

He held up his hands once more, turning the locks of the devil's gate until they were aligned.

The stone doors swung slowly open.

A Winchester walked out.

His path was blocked by the trap; the edges of it left no room for him to pass the threshold of the gate without stepping into the fire.

"Such a warm welcome."

His vessel had been trapped in the cage with him, Crowley knew, and what a difference it made; he could feel the boy's power from where he stood. And he wasn't even a knight yet.

That could present a problem.

"Well," Crowley said strolling slowly around the fire, "I had to mind my p's and q's. Weren't exactly locked away in Majorca, were you?"

It's booming laughter filled the cavern.

"Don't trust me?"

"I will," he said, grinning. "But certainly not yet. Why, I don't know you from Adam, now do I?"


	11. Cain Rose Up

Tony's breaths came in ragged gasps as he tore through the woods.

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on his neck as he ran. He'd lost his weapon to a pack of vampires hours ago – long before the Leviathans had picked up his trail – and now he was less than a hundred yards from the portal. He risked a glance over his shoulder and was surprised to see an empty path behind him.

_Just keep running. _

What looked like a black asteroid crashed to the ground in front of him and he swerved to avoid it, diverting around a tree and trying to keep his path.

"Don't run, now, Tony," a mocking voice called. "We just want to have a little fireside chat. Get to know one another."

Fifty yards.

He tried to pick up speed. He could see the tear ahead of him, blue and ephemeral even in the bright sunlight. If the rumors he'd heard were true, he could get through to the other side – even without a human. What the hell he'd do when he got there, he didn't know – his body had been burned by a hunter – but it didn't matter.

Anywhere was better than here. He wasn't cut out for this place.

After what seemed an eternity, he stood before it. He pulled the spell out of his satchel, furious that he hadn't had time to memorize it. He said the words, and the gap opened wider, exposing a black maw in which nothing could be seen.

Tony looked back over his shoulder.

Three Leviathans stood in a line, staring menacingly at him. Why they didn't leap through the portal, he had no idea, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

With one last look around the place he'd spent the last ten years, he jumped through the gap in the world.

* * *

_He'll be back soon. _Dean swallowed, cracking his neck. His skin was shot through with cold and his muscles trembled as if in anticipation of a jump scare. _Calm down. _

He turned off the television, getting up to toss the dishes in the sink. The bunker was dead silent now; he couldn't even hear cars passing on the highway outside. The quiet was almost oppressive, and it only served to highlight the chaos in his mind. He'd tried to distract himself with the tube, but it wasn't working; all it did was add noise to the reel of horror in his head. Unfortunately, the soundlessness of the space only made him edgy and hypervigilant.

Benny had called him six times since he'd left New Orleans, but Dean hadn't answered even once. He simply didn't want to hear what he knew Benny would say – he'd heard it damn near every day of their last few months in Purgatory and really couldn't stand it anymore. Benny meant well, and he was one of the best friends Dean had ever had, but sometimes Dean wished he knew when to fuck off.

_Must have been a real sap when he was a human, _he thought, leaning over the sink. _Would have made a hell of a shrink. _

He was pouring himself another drink when the shrill sound of his ringtone reached his ears again.

_To hell with it, _he thought, setting the glass of whiskey on the counter and crossing the room. He picked up the phone, unsurprised to see Benny's name flashing across the screen.

"Look, man, I told you, I'm fine – "

"Dean!" He sounded winded, and possibly injured; Dean's already wired emotional state intensified. "Pick up the telephone once in a blue moon."

"What's wrong? Do you need me?"

"I'm all right," he said, "just had a run in with a skinwalker. He wasn't huntin' me, it was just a wrong place wrong time kind of thing."

"You sure?"

"I am, but…I've been trying to get in touch with you. Something's goin' on, man."

"Yeah, you're telling me. If that demon really was the one who told you about – "

"No, not that."

"What the hell else is happening? Princess Peach been kidnapped?"

"It's these monsters. Don't mean to sound like a hypocrite, but it seems like they're everywhere since we got back. 'Specially the last few weeks."

"It's Earth, Benny. Welcome."

"Naw, it's more'n that. This skinwalker was just a fluke, but since we split a few months back, the others, they've been all over my ass."

Dean frowned, switching ears. "What for?"

"Dunno. Killed 'em before they could say. But there have been a lot of them, Dean. And I think…"

He trailed off.

"What?"

"I think they – "

But Dean heard Sam at the door and cut him off.

"Listen, Sam's here, but I'll hit you back once he's busy. You sure you're safe?"

"I'm fine."

Dean ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket and trotting back to the kitchen. When Sam finally made it inside, he was leaning against the sink, glass in hand. Sam caught sight of him and ambled over sheepishly, dropping a bag onto one of the bar stools and sitting in another.

He looked as good as new. Hell, even his hair was shinier.

Dean stared defiantly at him over the rim of his glass, savoring the taste of the drink.

"You're looking well, Marguerite."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I ought to be. Took enough of that potion to raise Frankenstein's monster."

Dean chuckled, setting his empty glass in the sink. "They slip a little into your IV during surgery?"

"Something like that."

He nodded, stepping away from the counter and leaning his back against the fridge. He was still a little sore from his rough and tumble with Crowley, but damned if he was gonna let that get in his way. It was time for Sam come clean about the shenanigans that had been taking place under Dean's nose. Sam was lying – lying _big_ – and going forward, he was gonna have to be honest. Dean wasn't about to get blindsided again.

"What were you thinking?" Sam said. His elbows rested on the counter. "Why'd you just take off like that after Nikki? It's exactly what Crowley wanted."

"What was _I _thinking?" Dean scoffed, biting his lip. "_I'm_ not the one who's in bed with crossroads demons, Sam. I'm not the one who's lying his ass off about what happened this past year. I'm not the one with Kryptonian healing potions in my goddam back pocket – "

"I saw the basement at Nikki's," Sam interrupted, ignoring him. "Something's wrong. I haven't seen you go Guantanamo like that since Alistair. I saw Kaja's body, man. And what happened in that crypt, with Crowley…"

Dean nodded. _Of course, _he thought. _Should have known he'd pull this. Fine. He wants to play that game…_

"Okay," Dean said.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I'm having a hard time here, I fucking admit it. I've had a screw or two loose for a while, but this last little otherworld adventure really threw me for a loop. And then there's the stuff with this tablet, and you, and these trials…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "And then when Crowley just showed up and tried to blow us all away like redshirts, I dunno, I just…snapped, a little bit. And I accept responsibility for that, Sam, really, I do."

Sam looked thoroughly shocked at his admission and fumbled for words, but Dean held up a hand.

"Don't bother," he said. "I know. I try to do too much, I don't deal with my feelings enough, or ever, yadda yadda…I got enough of that crap from Benny this week – "

"_Benny_?"

Dean looked up defiantly. "Yeah. _Benny. _The guy who helped me escape Purgatory, who was there for me, the one who heard about the escape hatch from your Replacement Ruby…" He couldn't keep a satisfied smile off his face as the color drained from Sam's cheeks. "You know, _that_ guy."

Sam took a deep breath, and Dean could feel him reaching for another lie.

"Look, Dean – "

"No." Dean walked around the counter and sat on a stool beside Sam, resting his elbows on the bar as well. "Don't. I don't want to hear it. There's no way it's a coincidence that the demon you're bumping uglies with is the one to tell Benny how to break us out of the joint. I want the truth. No cuts, no buts, no coconuts."

"If I could – "

"You _can_!" Sam jumped back at bit at his outburst, but Dean didn't care. "Haven't you learned that? What the hell have we been doing all these years?"

"It's – "

"Do you remember when we trusted each other? When we worked together to get shit done? When I could fucking call you if I was in trouble and you would show up? When you could tell me what was happening to you and we'd find some way to fix it? Do you remember those days, Sammy?"

"You were never supposed to meet her," Sam muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"I said, you were never supposed to meet her." He was staring straight ahead, not looking at Dean. "She was supposed to go there, spread the word, make sure it got to you, and then vanish into the wind. She shouldn't have come when you summoned. She knew better."

Dean glared at him, unable to believe his ears. "That's the problem you see with this? That I found out?"

"It's complicated."

"Then un-complicte it! Tell me the goddam truth!"

"I – "

"Did you really put down all those Leviathans?"

Sam hesitated. "I had help," he said. "But yeah, I did."

"And you sent that demon – Kaja – to find me?"

He nodded.

"Did you have something to do with that gate out of the Purg, Sam?"

Sam didn't reply.

"Sam – "

"Yes, okay?" Sam still wasn't looking at him; his expression was blank. "Yes."

"Then why did you tell me you took time off to do fuck all? Was it because of the witches? The demons? Because we've been there, Sam. Neither of our hands are clean on that score. You didn't need to hide that from me."

"I know."

"So why did you?"

Sam swallowed hard, and…

Were those _tears_?

"Sam –"

"I guess I just thought…I dunno, that I could make it all up to you somehow, that if I could do this one thing for you and do it right, that…things could go back to how they were, that we could be who we used to be." He paused and breathed, tapping his fingers on the formica. "But that's not gonna happen. I see that now."

Dean shook his head in confusion and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "What do you mean, make it up to me? Make _what_ up?"

"Who we were…those men are gone."

"What do you – "

"About Adam," Sam said, clearing his throat. "We need a plan."

"Hey – "

"We owe him, Dean," Sam said forcefully. "We can't let Crowley screw him over. If he becomes a knight, he'll be virtually impossible to kill. He'll never have peace. There's gotta be something in this place about how to stop it. We should talk to Metatron, too…"

"We'll get to that, but Sam – "

But he climbed off the bar stool and strolled off in the direction of the library. Dean was only midway through the great room when the library door shut behind Sam.

* * *

Adam sat in the Devil's trap with his legs crossed, watching the king pace to and fro while his lackey talked into a bowl of blood. Lucifer had mentioned that about fifty years before, but Adam hadn't yet seen it in person. It was underwhelming.

He breathed deep.

The air on Earth was thinner than he remembered. Wherever the cage was – there was some debate about whether its location could actually be classified as a _place_ – the air was thick, hard to breathe in. It was hard to say how long his corporeal body had lasted in there. Between Lucifer and Michel, the torture he'd endured made all of the years run together and he couldn't remember when he'd physically died.

Not that it mattered.

He was better now.

More powerful than most demons.

Lucifer had said so himself, and the fallen one was a lot of things, but not a liar.

Never a liar.

And he'd told Adam one day, while peeling his flesh, that Sam, the Sam who'd been the only other human thing in that cage, was gone. That Death had come to get him – on Dean's orders, of course – from that cage and bring him home to Earth. That Dean had had a choice between his soul and Sam's and, well, there really wasn't a contest there, eh?

He hadn't wanted to believe it, hadn't wanted to face that he was alone in that hellhole with only the Devil and his brother to keep him company, but after a while it could no longer be denied, and oh, that was a bitter day. It was the day he'd finally known he'd never escape, never get back to his mother, never see another living thing. And Lucifer had made him an offer, and offer he'd have been a fool to refuse, and offer he'd make good on, if only for spite.

They would pay.

They would pay for all of it.

And if the world was destroyed for it, if Dean's life work was invalidated by it, well that was just icing on the cake. No one had cared about _his_ life, or _his_ death, or _his_ soul, so what was it to him?

He knew what the king wanted, and oh, he'd be delighted to oblige him.

A regular demon, his brothers could kill.

But a knight?

He smirked to himself as Crowley got shakily to his feet and walked over, cane clicking on the stone.

"So, Your Highness," Adam said, "you make a decision?"

He could tell that the King was still wary of him, he grew less so by the hour. Soon, Adam would be free. And when that happened…

He grinned at the mental image of Dean's flayed body.

"Not just yet," Crowley said. "Details, details. Not easy to make a knight, you know. Got to get it right the first time."

Adam nodded thoughtfully, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

It was no bother.

He had all the time in the world.


End file.
